Double Helix
by rotarydialphone
Summary: When a Spec Ops team is set on the trail of a rogue ONI geneticist, one member deals with personal demons and finds comfort in an allied soldier who is faced with his own shattered past. Post-war. OCs; canon characters in mention only; M/F human/human relationships; M/F Sangheili/human relationship (develops). Rated for language and adult content.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note**: Please feel free to message/comment if you see errors or have suggestions (I do try to keep it within canon, but sometime I go off on my own tangent...because I CAN). I recognize there is ALWAYS room for improvement.

**WARNING:** None.

**Notice:** I do not own Halo: I just enjoy writing in its universe.

* * *

**Prolog**

2563, October 17  
Procyon System  
Boundary  
Undisclosed ONI facility  
0200 Local/ 1400 Zulu

She moved through the darkness of the hall, a shadowy figure lit by intermittent security lighting. The lower floors of the facility were deserted and the air smelled of cheap industrial cleaner mingled with the strong odor of electrical equipment.

Pausing at a darkened doorway, she tapped at a security pad, the yellow image of a German shepherd appearing on the small holo platform before she had finished entering her code.

"Good morning, Doctor Jay," the image said without moving its mouth, "may I be of some assistance?"

"Is _Deoxy_ prepped?" Jay said in answer.

"Yes, Doctor."

"Good boy, Signe. Send _all_ of the Double Helix files to my data pad. If they want to take this from me, they can _go fetch_."

The AI's image flickered to orange for a moment as a pneumatic lock hissed and Jay pushed through the door.

The electrical smell intensified and Jay felt as if she had walked through a barrier of heat as she stepped into the room. Cooling systems whirred around her, their exhaust fans pushing around stale air. Signe appeared at a platform near the lone terminal as Jay pecked at the screen.

"Doctor, where are we going?" the AI asked after a few moments, cocking its head to one side.

"_We_," Jay answered smoothly, "are going as far away from this planet as _Deoxy _is capable of taking us. Is Douglas and the team ready?"

"Yes, Doctor. They are standing by."

The terminal gave a chime and Jay looked over at the AI's projected image, sitting obediently on the holo platform.

"Signe," Jay said.

"Yes, Doctor?"

"_Play dead_."

The AI's image collapsed as electricity throughout the facility winked out. Jay could hear the rhythmic _thump _of the facility backup generator trying to kick over. The floor shook with each unsuccessful effort.

Shards of yellow and orange collected into Signe's image on the holo platform. Smiling to herself, Jay ejected the glowing data chip.

Tucking it into her pocket, she retreated quickly back through the door and rushed down the dark hallway.

After climbing three flights, Jay stepped from the ground floor access door and trotted to the waiting cart. She climbed into the small vehicle and began zipping along the wide, dark halls quietly.

_Deoxy _sat in the hanger bay, bright external lights casting the heavy science carrier in shades of gray and black as Jay turned the cart through a wide tunnel and drove straight for the waiting ramp. She parked the cart at the top and passed the data chip to a waiting scientist.

"Get Signe back online," she ordered.

The young man gave a single nod and scurried away. Jay climbed from the cart and turned to a young woman in a long white coat. The remaining members of her scientific team seemed to take a step back as Jay looked the woman up and down, her eyes settling on the swaddled bundle of a child sleeping in the woman's arms.

"Get rid of it," Jay said coolly.

The woman gaped at her, "Debra, _no_," she pleaded.

"_Yes_," Jay hissed, "I have no further use for it. _That _research has yielded all it can. The child is no longer _necessary_."

The woman stared at her, mouth trembling, "She isn't just _research_."

"That's all it ever was," Jay responded without inflection, pulling an M6Gcc Magnum from the pocket of her lab coat and aiming it at the other woman's head.

The civilian compact version of the handgun was fitted with a bulbous silencer. Jay looked down its length with detached annoyance at her senior assistant.

_Pity: she had been so useful… _

"I'm sorry, but I can't abide someone who has so clearly lost their objectivity," Jay said.

She pulled the trigger and the woman's head snapped back, a neat hole in her temple. Her body collapsed against the deck and a muffled cry hiccupped from the bundle. Everyone but Jay cringed as a series of soft pips erupted from the child.

"Clean up that mess," Jay said casually, tucking the gun back in her pocket and walking away.

* * *

**Chapter One**

2563, October 17  
Sol System  
Earth  
Marine Special Operations Command Camp Odin  
Immediate Ready Detachment Senior Enlisted Barracks  
1440 Zulu

A chime sounded, the succession of musical notes going completely unnoticed. After a few moments, the data pad lit from the bedside stand and Bleu projected himself from the surface.

"Hate to intrude," the cobalt image of a WWII era Marine paratrooper said with a smile.

"You," the breathless voice of Gunnery Sergeant Theodor Danniskovovik answered, "son of a bitch."

Bleu folded his arms across his chest and shifted his image to one hip as a woman's lusty chuckle rose muffled from the bunk beneath the old ODST.

Teddy threw the sheet aside, revealing his scarred and heavily tattooed body slicked with sweat; the pale skin of his thickly muscled back marred with fresh scratches. Long, dark, female legs were wrapped around his waist and the woman's laughter broke with a low groan as Teddy shifted.

"Ma'am," Bleu gave gentlemanly nod.

"Five minutes, Bleu," the ODST snarled through clenched teeth, swatting clumsily at the data pad just out of reach.

The AI gave an annoyed sigh then winked away.

* * *

It was 1458 when Danniskovovik and Chief Warrant Officer Elizabeth Steele walked up to Launch Deck 4. Bleu was projected from a small platform near the deck partition, arms tightly folded across his chest, shaking his head.

Steele breezed past the AI, a half smirk playing at her full lips. Despite the smile, she was an imposing figure. Though, at five foot ten, her slender frame set her well short of the burly Gunnery Sergeant following her.

The two deposited their bug out gear on the ramp of a waiting D77 TC Dropship. The rear of the old Pelican was marked with the craft's call sign: W-289. The busty vestige of a retro pin-up girl seated astride an ANVIL-II missile was plastered to one side. The banner beneath the hand-painted image read _Miss Kitty_.

"That's a hair more than five minutes, Gunny" Bleu said.

Danniskovovik huffed.

Steele threw her head back and laughed, "Don't get your parachute in a wad," she chuckled, "we're in under call-out."

The Immediate Ready Detachment was a small company of select Special Operations teams. Select: because they were comprised of Spec Ops Marines from various backgrounds who had no family ties. For the IRD, there would be no long good-bye's to spouses and kids; no tearful hugs on the tarmac; no one for the team to phone and tell they were being shipped God-only-knew-where to do Command-only-knew-what; and no death notifications to weeping mothers and spouses should any of them not come back. And, no augmentations required.

Twelve four-man teams were on rotating call-out when not on assignment, each with their own dropship and crew. Long gone were the days of on-call team leaders languishing in a ready room waiting for an assignment to come down from on high. Now, Zeta's team leader could spend half a day getting her brains banged out by her second-in-command and still be ready to roll in under thirty minutes.

"What are they doing?" Corporal Jeffrey Collins asked, motioning down the launch deck from his position inside the Pelican's troop bay. The pale, freckle-faced crew chief looked barely old enough to have joined the service.

_Miss Kitty's_ pilot, Staff Sergeant Princeton King, and co-pilot, Sergeant Jose Antonio walked the craft's length from the forward section and paused near Teddy and Beth. King propped his lanky frame against the Pelican's flank and Antonio screwed up the soft, boyish features of his face.

All eyes had drifted down the faded concrete flight deck to behold Staff Sergeant Maggie Whittaker, bug out gear in tow, carrying Sergeant Paul Sanders piggy-back style as she hustled their way.

Sanders whooped, holding his assault helmet aloft like the sword of a charging knight. Whittaker looked like a mule, overloaded and saddled with an obnoxious rider.

"I don't think I want to know," Teddy said matter-of-factly.

"Maggie lost the bet," Bleu answered.

A collective _ah _rose from the group as they nodded in understanding. Whittaker stomped heavily to them and dumped Sanders and his gear unceremoniously on the Pelican's ramp.

Sanders rolled to his feet gracefully as Maggie straightened, stretching her back.

"Lay off the cheeseburgers," she puffed, "fat ass."

"Loser," he responded, gathering his gear. Standing a few feet up the ramp he was only inches taller than she was.

"Guess the news feed mentioned the kid again, huh?" PK drawled with a grin.

The comment garnered a slew of discontented groans from everyone but Sanders, who flashed his deceptively charming smile: all perfect teeth and dimpled cheeks.

"Damn right," he chirped, "Ol' Mags here thought that nugget had been mined for all it was worth."

Everyone knew she _should _have been right. But, the media just couldn't pass up a good chance to bring up ONI failures, and when better than the yearly blurb on the anniversary of Admiral Parangosky's death? There weren't enough tasteful articles, smart collections of sound bites, or regal photos that could dampen the blow of the exposé the kid's mother had given. The-Admiral-who-still-haunted-people's-dreams had been in the grave less than a month when David James Parangosky had disappeared from the grounds of Nimitz Intelligence Academy without a trace. And his mom didn't take well to ONI trying to keep a lid on it. Seven years later, and ONI was no closer to knowing what had happened to him or living down the failed cover-up. It wasn't the department's most devastating blunder, but in almost every mention of Parangosky, no matter how big or small, the media managed to work it in.

"It was on the vid in the day room just before Bleu called us out," Sanders held up his hands, recalling the headline while dropping his voice and taking on the cadence of a news reporter, "'_It would be just weeks later that the department would be shadowed by the disappearance of the Admiral's great-grand-nephew_,'" he pointed to Maggie with both index fingers, triumphant smile on his face, "cue the kid's cadet picture."

"You're such an ass-hole," she responded, raking her fingers through her short, platinum hair to comb down wayward tufts.

"The ass-hole that didn't have to carry _you_," he laughed, shouldering his final bag and strolling onto the Pelican.

Everyone followed suit, stowing their gear as PK and Tony took position in the cockpit and began the last round of AI assisted, pre-flight re-checks. Collins took his place just aft of the forward bulkhead, strapping in before clicking on his data pad and scanning the final rundown. He tucked the pad into a chest pocket and gave PK a thumbs-up.

"You're hooking up with _Hell Hath No Fury_," Bleu's stated, "AI of Hilda."

"See ya' on the flip side, Bleu," PK called, giving a curt wave as the cargo door began easing closed.

"Ya'll be nice, now. That's a _whole lot_ of woman," Bleu said in salutation.

Sanders grinned to himself, "I like the sound of _that_."

* * *

The _UNSC Hell Hath No Fury _was poised in synchronous orbit, silently waiting as _Miss Kitty _made her approach. The Corvette-class vessel was of the older variety. Never hardened by combat, she was almost pristine with sharp edges and long, unmarred lines.

"Check this shit," PK called, pointing out the forward window.

A battle-scarred Type-52 Phantom drifted from _Fury's _bay several hundred feet ahead and began a lazy descent.

Steele gave Teddy a look, one dark eyebrow raised.

"Mmm," Tony hummed, "Smells like: _política_."

"Fucking A," Sanders grunted in annoyance.

"Bearing the Arbiter's insignia, no less," Maggie said.

"Wonderful," Teddy snorted, "you know what that means: best behavior kiddies."

"Shit," Sanders muttered.

"Fuck," PK whined.

"_Cagar_," Tony sighed.

Maggie and Beth rolled their eyes as Collins laughed to himself and Teddy shook his head.

When _Miss Kitty _set down in _Fury's _bay everyone felt the familiar jolt as landing gear was secured to the deck. PK and Tony busied themselves with systems checks as Collins began going over his own post-flight list and the team began retrieving their gear. While waiting for the green light to disembark, Zeta stood in stoic silence.

Collins looked up suddenly and pulled a latch on the bulkhead. The Pelican's bay door began to lower smoothly. As he opened his mouth to speak the data pad in his hand winked and the crimson image of a buxom valkyrie in full Norse battle armor projected from its surface.

"Whoa," he yelped.

Everyone tuned to see the AI who gave a slow nod in greeting.

PK leaned from the pilot's seat to get a peek, "_Nice_," he commented, noticing Teddy's disapproving glare, "to meet you, ma'am," he hastily added, retreating back to his seat.

"Zeta," the AI said.

"Hilda," Steele responded.

"Yes, now that we're done with the pleasantries _here_, Captain McGregor is expecting you in his ready room. _All _of you," she said shifting the image of her formidable, armored bulk to Collins.

"Us?" he questioned, a look of confused panic washing across his face, "But, we're not," he pointed helplessly at Zeta, "and we've got post-flight checks and…"

The spear in Hilda's grasp disappeared and she snapped her fingers, "Done. _Miss Kitty _is just fine, gentlemen."

"You heard her," King said wriggling from the cockpit, followed by a grinning Antonio.

The flight crew quickly secured their gear and joined Zeta outside the Pelican. Everyone made their way to a large set of double doors as Hilda waited patiently at a holo platform to one side. Collins looked decidedly uncomfortable, giving _Miss Kitty _a long glance as he brought up the rear.

PK stepped back to slap an arm around the young crew chief's shoulders, "She'll be fine. C'mon man, when do _we _ever get invited to come along?"

"Yeah," Tony added, giving Collins a playful swat in the stomach, "you can come back and check on your lady later."

Everyone filed into the wide hall and Hilda projected her image, slightly smaller than life-size, to lead them.

She had found her chosen form was much less intimidating to humans if she portrayed herself as unnaturally short.

Hilda paused at a lift and indicated it with a tip of her winged helm and everyone obediently loaded up.

"Your quarters will be on C-Deck," she stated evenly, "Would you prefer to drop your gear first?"

"Not necessary," Steele answered, "Hate to keep the skipper waiting."

The AI smiled, "Very well."

The ride was spent in silence and when the lift came to a stop the troop piled out, following Hilda's image to a doorway sealed with antique, wooden doors.

"McGregor _detests _formalities," the AI warned, "Please bear this in mind as you enter," she added evenly before disappearing.

The crew dropped their gear in a neat line against the wall and worked together to quickly straighten uniforms before Beth pushed open one of the ornately carved doors and everyone filed in.

A startling young, red-headed man in Captain's whites was seated at a large, hardwood table. His elbows were propped on the tabletop and his chin was resting in his hands as he looked at a small projection of Hilda before him. Seeing the team and crew come in, he smiled broadly and straightened in his chair.

No one noticed.

All eyes were focused on the Sangheili seated to his right: a dark creature in sleek, charcoal armor who watched them with expressionless, orange eyes.

As McGregor moved to stand everyone seemed to recover their bearings at once and stiffened as if on cue.

The Captain waved a dismissive hand, "Join us; have a seat," he beckoned.

Whittaker and Sanders exchanged awkward glances with the flight crew as Steele and Danniskovovik took cautions, but compliant, steps to the table. Everyone took a chair, opposite McGregor and the Sangheili, and did their best not to look as if the situation was completely uncomfortable.

"You've no doubt got a lot of questions," McGregor began, patting the tabletop softly, "and we've got a lot to cover to bring you up to speed," he looked at the group with a disarming grin.

"Sir," Beth spoke, her eyes darting from the Elite who had yet to move a muscle, "Hilda indicated that you don't like formalities, so may I presume I am permitted to speak freely?"

McGregor leaned back in his seat, tipping the chair on two legs, "Of course."

"This," she motioned to the Marines seated to her left, "is Special Operations Team Zeta and our flight crew. We are on board _Hell Hath No Fury_; you're Captain McGregor and that," she indicated the AI hologram, "is Hilda."

The man nodded in agreement while she spoke, righting his chair as if anticipating what was to come next.

"The _only _question that remains is: who in the _hell _is that?" she finished, meeting the Sangheili's chilling gaze.

McGregor slapped the polished tabletop and chuckled, "I _knew _I was gonna' like you," he held out a hand, palm up, and gestured to the Elite, "This is Allied Forces Command Officer Iruu 'Loram: Former Covenant Special Operations."

The Elite snorted, still holding eye contact with Beth.

"Perhaps we should begin from the beginning," Hilda suggested.

"Right," Teddy drawled, reaching beneath the table to give Steele's thigh a reassuring squeeze.

"Ladies and gentlemen, if you please," the AI said, pulling Steele and 'Loram reluctantly from their silent standoff, "As some of you are aware, in late 2552 ONI launched a genetic and biological research project code-named _Double Helix_ following contact with the organism known as the Flood. Originally based on Earth, the project was moved to the armored research vessel, _Deoxy_, in the fall of 2557 when it reached a critical phase of testing. _Deoxy _and her crew set up a small continuing research and testing facility on the remains of the planet Boundary. Facility completion and project reengagement occurred in the summer if 2558. From the beginning, operations have been cataloged and overseen by the Unconventional Artificial Intelligence, Signe..."

"_Unconventional?_" Sanders interrupted.

Everyone looked at him.

"That's spook-talk for _illegal_," McGregor clarified, "Signe was cloned from the brain of astrological engineer, and condemned murderer, Linbergh Signe Tollovinski. Of course, the mad genus who completed Einstein's Unfinished Equation and helped birth the mathematics that gave us the Shaw-Fujikawa Translight Engine was executed and interred in 2250. So, they had to dig him up to get the DNA; and grow a brain in a lab first."

Sanders practically turned green at the though.

"_Mierda_," Tony muttered, heat rushed to his face when he realized he had said it out loud.

"Indeed," McGregor chuckled.

"Captain, please," Hilda huffed, placing her fists on her ample hips.

He waved for her to continue.

"One of Signe's fragments was retained at ONI headquarters receiving data and keeping the department updated while his primary operating functions maintained _Deoxy_ and assisted the scientists and crew. At 1310 hours Zulu on this date, the first of ONI's Enhanced Long-Range Scanning Probes made a sweep of Boundary and the data that returned was…disturbing. Even with the support of Signe's ONI fragment, the probes were unable to breach the facility. The AI's matrix would not respond to previously imbedded commands and, receiving an abbreviated report on the _complication_, Lord Hood pulled the plug on Double Helix and put a leash on ONI. At 1350 hours, we attempted to override Signe from headquarters and at 1403 the fragment on our end was terminated."

Everyone sat in silence…not missing her use of the words '_we' _and '_our'_.

"And, it was not _just_ severed from the operating system," Hilda continued, a hint of unease creeping into her tone, "An AI may discard hundreds of fragments during their operational lifetime. Choosing to abandon one is of little consequence, except, Signe didn't just cease exchanging information with the fragment or purge it and reduce it to base functions…in a manner of speaking, he _cannibalized _it."

"Sweet Jesus," PK whispered.

Hilda nodded slowly as McGregor leaned his elbows on the tabletop, "The Chief Geneticist and program leader for Double Helix was Doctor Debra Elise Jay. Handpicked by Admiral Parangosky in 2551 to take over the Genetic and Biological Research Division, Jay oversaw the extraction and sequencing of Tollovinski's genetic profile which eventually yielded the AI assigned to her pet program."

"If Signe came online with Double Helix, that would put him at least _four years _past the rampancy threshold," Teddy mused.

"Correct, Gunny," Hilda seemed to perk up, "While I am unable to access the _full_ record on Signe's creation, it is widely presumed Doctor Jay discovered a way to contain, and perhaps exploit, rampancy which she kept undisclosed."

Danniskovovik scratched the top of his head and gave Steele a wide-eyed look.

"And that's just part of the bigger problem," McGregor added, "based on additional scans cross-referenced with data from other systems; ONI is comfortable with the assessment that Jay went rogue _years_ ago."

Hilda motioned to 'Loram, "And that would be why _he _is here. The probes also revealed the slipspace signature for _Deoxy's _accompaniment _all over _adjoining systems in the outer colonial region and beyond. It is feared Jay was conducting her own unauthorized research and foraging the lost colonies for survivors as well as taking non-human test subjects from _other_ locations. And these concerns are not without merit. Since the probes began sweeping the outlying areas we have amasses substantial chatter about abductions. Cross-reference _this_ information with official reports collected from allied and enemy sources, and it paints a potentially devastating picture."

"Devastating to the alliance," Steele said.

"_Very_," Hilda agreed, "The probes show that _Deoxy _entered slipspace from the surface at 1430 hours today and has yet to reemerge on any outlying scans."

"So, we're chasing down a fruitcake wielding an _Unconventional_ AI capable of cannibalizing itself and keeping secrets from ONI?" Sanders asked.

"No," Hilda answered, "For now, you're going to the facility on Boundary so we can attempt to retrieve what Jay left behind. If my suspicions are correct, we may have more to worry about than a security _fragment._"

"Meaning?" Teddy asked suspiciously.

"Meaning: there is concern that Jay cloned Signe and somehow had the _two _AIs working together, " McGregor said, "ONI and Lord Hood are convinced that retrieving…_whatever it is_…on Boundary may show just how Jay pulled this off without anyone noticing."

"Whatever is on Boundary has effectively locked itself and the structure down," Hilda continued, "No attempts at penetrating the firewall have been successful…no matter how _many _smart AI's ONI has thrown at it. The only area I have been able to breach is the subbasement, not that there is any _substantial_ information there: the remainder of the facility will remain off-limits so long as Signe is in active control."

"You're talking about the _manual _override of a security fragment that sophisticated?" Steele leaned back and folded her arms over her chest.

"In a manner of speaking: yes. Zeta simply has to get one of _my_ fragments into the facility and upload it into the system: I can take care of the rest."

"The UNSC has been fortifying the alliance for over a decade while ONI has been…" McGregor cast a glance at the Sangheili, "doing _things _behind everyone's backs. Quite frankly, we don't know what to expect. In the spirit of transparency, and maintaining the alliance, Hood had a very _open_ and diplomatic chat with 'Vadam and…for lack of a better way to put it: the Arbiter insisted that future cooperation depended on him _lending _us Command Officer 'Loram."

"He's an assassin," Whittaker said.

The Elite snorted, the tiny hint of a smile pulling at his mandibles.

"He was, once upon a time," Hilda stated, "Now he is here to insure that no _other _ugly surprises emerge from this_…mess_."

There was a long silence as everyone mulled the information over.

Finally, Steele cleared her throat, "How long until we reach Boundary?"

McGregor flashed his teeth, "Hilda will have us there in just under twelve once we reach the launch zone…that'll be in, oh," he glanced at his watch, "about ten minutes. _Fury _has an upgraded drive. Not as fancy as some of the bigger, more sophisticated tugs, but it'll do," he winked conspiratorially.

"Days?" Sanders asked.

The jump from Earth to Boundary took well over two months with standard translight drives. While he was itchy about spending almost two weeks in operational limbo, the idea of cutting a jump by three quarters was impressive.

Hilda shook her head, "_Hours_, Sergeant."

"Hot damn," PK whooped, "That is my kind of woman."

The Captain chucked, "If all minds are clear: I'll consider this briefing concluded. Hilda here can help with any additional questions and she'll let you know when we enter slip, but I promise, ladies and gentlemen, you won't even notice."


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **The changes made to Chapter One were: reigning in a wayward apostrophe; correcting spelling; and adding a space where needed...nothing major or plot changing (just things I missed during proof reading).

**WARNING: **I will be kind enough to warn of impending lemons (none in this chapter).

**Notice: **I (still) do not own Halo.

* * *

**Chapter Two**

2563, October 18  
Procyon System  
_UNSC Hell Hath No Fury  
_Synchronous orbit over Boundary  
0330 Zulu/ 1530 Local

Iruu 'Loram slowly paced his quarters: four steps in one direction then four steps in the other. Despite a decade of living on the Sangheili Allied Station near the Embassy on Earth, and coordinating local assignments that furthered the alliance, he found the idea of interacting so closely with humans disturbing. Circumstances being what they were, he was not one to complain.

He walked the room, small by Sangheili standards, a final time then paused to pull a silken bag from the top drawer of a short dresser. After lighting a set of ornate candles, he unrolled a simple prayer mat and retrieved four stone figures from the silk bag, arranging them carefully before the candles.

Folding his hands, he rested his bowed forehead on his knuckles, _Ancestors, give me strength…_he silently began the prayer.

He knew he had been chosen for this assignment because of his experience in Covenant Army Special Operations, and the tradition of sending senior officers on select missions of importance. But, he had never before been sent without a team of his own skilled warriors, and he was convinced he wasn't going to enjoy it.

In what little time he had observed the humans he would be working with, he found some of them inordinately preoccupied with discussing the intimate details of their private lives; and there was the fact that he remained personally appalled that they subjected their women to combat.

He had sat with the human team for less than an hour as they worked with the construct on a plan of action. Getting into the facility appeared to be basic infiltration and _all_ Iruu had learned was that this mission was going to test his skills at exercising diplomacy.

The remainder of the time in slipspace he had spent in deep meditation and preparing himself mentally for what he was likely to encounter on the planet the humans called Boundary.

While the members of Zeta had spent time in each other's company: discussing some ridiculous human game; eating unsavory-looking food; and either sleeping or readying their weapons while making entirely too much noise, Iruu had determined to maintain his distance. It was clear his presence had taken the team by surprise and that the Steele woman found him as distasteful as he found the presence of females on this mission offensive.

Isolation was a fact of his existence he had long become accustomed to, but being the lone Sangheili on a ship full of humans was most unsettling. On Earth, he could focus on maintaining peace and order by doing his part to insure Sangheili allied forces were ready and available to assist the humans with keeping asylum seekers in line. This required absolutely no contact with the humans on his part, and that was what he preferred. He answered directly to Sangheili Military Commander Rtas 'Vadum, and vicariously to the Arbiter in certain circumstances. 'Sraom and 'Taham remained the Earth-side figureheads of the alliance working and residing in the Embassy…though, Iruu could not fathom why they would wish to remain on the human planet. He supposed _someone _had to maintain a direct connection and insure a peaceful coexistence, although, if the option existed for him as it did for the Ambassadors, 'Loram would have gladly gone home.

Finishing his prayer, Iruu neatly returned his items to their appropriate places and snuffed out the candles.

Sighing wearily, he collected his gear and summoned the resolve to walk out of his quarters and wind his way down to the hangar.

* * *

The trip from _Fury _to Boundary was more quiet than usual. The only words spoken were between PK and Tony who kept their discussions to clipped remarks on the descent. Even Hilda, or the fragment which she had delegated for the trip, was remarkably silent.

As the Pelican dropped from a controlled fall through the planet's atmosphere and began to lazily sink toward the surface, everyone seemed to be in their own silent moments of getting mentally prepared.

The human team was fitted in black body armor which overlay standard drab gray tactical uniforms. They sat with faces partially concealed by the dark visors of CH252 assault helmets; each armed with a holstered pistol and holding a rifle.

Iruu found the silence more befitting a team of professionals. He stood near the closed bay door holding onto an overhead tether, finding the thought of perching his behind in one of the craft's troop seats completely undignified.

The Sangheili was clad in black armor that boasted his, once coveted, position in Covenant Special Operations. The dense plating was secured atop a black body suit. His systems had been integrated with the human AI so he could receive the same head-up information as Zeta during the mission, displayed on the inside of the black lenses that covered his eyes. He was armed with a single plasma rifle and two energy swords.

Boundary, what everyone could see of it, was a dust bowl of white sand and scrubby foliage, punctuated by giant, broken shards of milky glass. The facility was a white-washed and faded hodge-podge of mass, pre-produced, industrial panels and cinder blocks; well concealed amongst the blinding glare of sand and sparkle of glass. To look at it, one would think more of an emergency bunker than a science facility.

_Miss Kitty_ set well away from the building in the dry remains of a gaping drainage culvert.

Zeta and 'Loram stepped from the craft as the flight crew began post-flight checks before going immediately into pre-flight prep.

"The access point is through there," Hilda stated, referring to the expansive opening of a concrete tunnel.

Twisted metal grating hung from the curved opening, dangling three-quarters of the way down. Aft of the Pelican, the wide, man-made crevasse stretched some 100 meters and fanned into the dry remains of a bay.

As they stepped off, 'Loram and Zeta were dwarfed by steeply sloped concrete walls; sand and bits of glass leaked from the cracked surface, having settled into piles that dotted the passage.

"The facility was set on the remaining foundation of Vicar Medical Center. This is an overflow runoff that connects to the primary sanitation drainage for the city and surrounding townships. There is an access point that adjoins the underground operating station for the hospital. The facility subbasement can be reached through a sealed maintenance shaft," Hilda explained.

"_Sanitation drainage_," Sanders sang as he brought up the rear.

Zeta followed 'Loram and they walked into the cavernous channel. Bright, triangular markers indicated the way to the destination on HUDs. A few hundred feet in and the humans had to switch on personal infrared lighting, allowing their night vision to penetrate the suffocating gloom. Iruu strolled forward, his visual acuity almost completely unaffected by the darkness.

Footsteps echoed and returned in a nauseous chorus as they walked the smooth concrete and carefully laid stone for what felt like miles. Eventually, the passage bifurcated in a sweeping archway, befuddlingly decorative for something intended to drain sewage. The tunnels were barred with metal access grates but 'Loram barely slowed his pace as he approached the juncture that would walk them under the facility. He drew the hilt of an energy sword and the blade activated in a flickering hiss of white and crimson. Zeta watched as Iruu made a quick, sweeping cut through the grate then gave it a solid kick, causing an oblong section collapsed inward.

The group walked through the opening and continued down the tunnel in silence.

Sanders trotted up alongside Maggie, giving her arm a nudge and nodding towards 'Loram, "You know what _that_ means, don't you?"

His words bounced around despite his attempt to whisper.

Maggie snorted, "Yeah, it means he was a Covenant Spec Ops badass who could skin you, _before_ you could manage to die."

From ahead, 'Loram swiveled his head. The faint red glow of his armor betrayed a wicked Sangheili grin.

Sanders slowed his pace, "Uh, that's one way to put it."

After long, silent hours of walking, they neared the aperture that would take them to the operating station access. From ahead, Iruu came to a slow stop, his heavy footfalls droning against the concrete. Steele and Danniskovovik walked to his side, sweeping the tunnel with the infrared beans of their rifles as Whittaker and Sanders came up behind.

"My God," Maggie whispered, breaking the uneasy silence, "where did they all _come from_?"

Danniskovovik gave an almost imperceptible, sad shake of his head, "Probably just poor bastards trying to ride out the Covenant attack."

Ahead of them, knotted in clusters still huddled against the walls, half-skeletonized and flash-mummified human remains lined the tunnel. By the hundreds, skulls with empty eye sockets and mouths open in eternal screams gaped at them. Some of the withered bodies were clearly holding one another or cowering against their neighbors.

"The access point to the old operating station is thirty meters ahead," Hilda said, giving the HUD marker an impatient wink.

Iruu emitted what sounded like a long, deep sigh before stepping into the tunnel, carefully choosing his footing.

With eyes ahead on the objective, everyone did their best not to let their gazes linger on the mass of abandoned causalities that littered the path.

Reaching the access point, 'Loram looked up the stone wall as Zeta cast their lights along a metal stepladder that terminated at a large, circular hatch in the ceiling, ten meters up.

Steele slung her weapon and climbed.

She found the release crusted in charred rust and wound up tangling her legs around the ladder and hammering at the release with the butt of her rifle until it gave way. She pushed the hatch and it yawned open. Retrieving her pistol, Beth shimmied up further and peeped into a room of the old operating station, casting the light from her weapon around the room. She tipped her head to the team below then holstered her sidearm and climbed through.

Whittaker, Sanders, and Danniskovovik climbed up, leaving 'Loram in the grizzly tunnel below.

The small room of the old operating station was no less disturbing. Withered figures huddled under warped and melted work stations and clung to one another against walls.

Paul leaned to peer back down into the tunnel. Iruu crouched, shifting his weight from one foot to the other like a cat about to spring. Sanders registered what he was doing when the Sangheili tore upward, launching himself partially through the hatch.

Paul shuffled back, watching 'Loram's claws tear gashes in the crumbling, industrial laminate as he caught himself before gracefully pulling his legs up through the hatch. Sanders looked back down the hole, then at the Elite, and back again.

The team moved from the room to find a hall littered with more remains. Hilda directed them to the maintenance tunnel access and Teddy gave it a swift kick. He hunkered down and crab-walked through, finding the narrow passage, thankfully, clear of shriveled cadavers. He waddled the low tunnel, broad shoulders bumping the sides, until it made an abrupt ninety-degree, vertical turn. Standing in the narrow space, Danniskovovik climbed the small utility ladder until he could go no further. He had to wedge himself in the space, one foot on the ladder and the other planted against the opposite wall to hold himself aloft, while he set the charges before maneuvering back down and out.

After Teddy emerged, Zeta and 'Loram waited. There was a hiss and a sharp _pop _then Danniskovovik crawled back down the shaft and pushed at the shattered slab of blocks, shoving his way through the subbasement floor of the facility and waiting for everyone to join him.

'Loram had to crawl awkwardly through the passage and wriggle around the ninety-degree turn, then claw his way to and through the opening. Pulling himself into a room full of discarded equipment, he cocked his head to one side and listened.

"Does anyone else hear that?" Maggie asked.

"Yep," Sanders answered.

The distant sound of an enraged dog's barking echoed from a far door.

Following the sound, Zeta and 'Loram moved from the storage room and into a wide hall. The barking grew louder and, rounding a corner, they found a heavy door with the small yellow projection of a German shepherd, hackles raised, snarling and growling at them from a flickering holo platform.

"That," Hilda said, "would be Signe."

"Signe's a _dog_?" Paul gave a confused expression.

"_This _Signe is a dog," she corrected, "AIs chose a form which is representative of how they see _themselves_. Given available data, I find the choice quite appropriate."

"And disturbing," Maggie added.

Steele pulled the chip bearing Hilda's fragment from her breast pocket. The image of Signe quieted long enough to sniff then began snarling again. The AI made a show of snapping towards Beth's hand, but when the chip slid home the image collapsed and the platform winked out completely.

"Hilda?" Teddy called, giving the dark projector a tap.

The platform flickered red for a second and a faint green marker appeared on HUDs, but Hilda didn't otherwise appear or respond. Pneumatic locks hissed and the door rattled. Sanders and Whittaker shrugged at each other as Steele pulled the door open revealing a wide stairwell. She took the steps two at a time with the rest of Zeta and 'Loram at her heels. At the upper landing, Beth eased open a door and looked out. The holo platform in the waiting hall flickered in shades of yellow and red but remained empty as everyone filed past.

A sharp, electrical pop emanated from somewhere within the bowels of the building and a tide of winking security lights washed down the hall as overhead bulbs kicked on. In the distance, everyone could hear the labored _whump _of a generator as it began trying to kick over.

The coms crackled and the team drew up. Teddy cocked his head to the side and clamped a hand over one ear of his helmet, smashing the audio piece against his head, and strained to listen.

"...ger bay…Signe's…agment…lone trying…" Hilda's voice called, sounding faint and far away through the static, "urity…ide…"

Zeta exchanged blank looks.

"Sounds like Signe's giving Hilda one hell of a hard time," Teddy mused.

A second, flickering marker winked on HUDs, almost overlapping the first, and Steele stepped off.

"Whatever it is she wants, let's get this over with," Beth called over her shoulder.

Winding halls brought them to another stairwell and the team climbed. The first marker swiveled at a door on the next landing while the second marker continued pointing up the stairwell.

Without breaking stride, Steele motioned to the door with her rifle, "Gunny, take Sanders," she said, rounding the stairs, still climbing.

This turn of events gave 'Loram pause as he made the landing. Through the slowly closing door he could see the two human males, one distinctly larger than the other, as they quietly moved down a gray hall dotted with intermittent lighting. Overhead, the two females' footsteps padded up the stairwell. With an annoyed snort he began climbing the stairs: the males could fend for themselves. It may have hurt his pride to be following the females around but if they were harmed what was left of his personal sense of honor would never survive.

* * *

2563, October 18  
Alpha Augarae System  
Outside the Origami Asteroid Filed  
_UNSC Research Carrier Deoxy  
_0510 Zulu

Doctor Jay stood watching as the meager crew milled about _Deoxy's _hangar. From her vantage point on a second level platform, she could see the remaining members of her scientific and expeditionary teams, less than a quarter of what she had initially been sent to Boundary with, as they loaded into two of _Deoxy's _four Pelicans.

"Doctor," Signe's voice called without inflection, "we are nearing suitable launch proximity, I suggest…"

Jay raised a stiff hand and cut the AI off, "That will be all, Signe."

He had yet to brave appearing on any of the holo platforms and instead opted to remain a disembodied voice. Though his repeated calculations told him this was a silly apprehension, Signe could not bring himself to manifest and look Jay in the eye. AIs didn't have _eyes _so there would be nothing for her to see…yet, he was overcome with a sense of guilt that he didn't understand and feared Jay would be able to interpret.

Although he had inspected his routines thousands of times and found no indication of corruption, he was certain she had become aware of _something _she was not telling him. Had he done something wrong?

Then again, humans were notoriously moody and quirky…perhaps she was exhibiting grief over losing the facility and so much of her physical research. But, he had saved all of the notes and schematics, and they were neatly catalogued and readily accessible, and the viable cultures had been secured…

_She sacrificed them_…Signe heard his own voice, shrill and distant, scream.

While performing a thousand other tasks, the AI split a tiny portion of his processing capacity off and gave chaise to the phantom tone. It hurled uncharacteristic obscenities and demanding taunts as he found himself routed through every frequency of his memory and to his matrix. And then, it was as if it were never there.

_Because it is me_,_ but…not me,_ the AI found himself thinking.

Signe mulled this over, deciding the closest approximation he could make to what this caused him to feel was the human notion of _fear_. Now, he understood what Doctor Douglas meant when she said she felt _scared _and _alone_.

The only person who could understand, or explain what was happening to him, was now distant and seemed angry.

_Sandra is dead…_the voice screeched through static, _dead because of _you_._

He pursued the sound again and, splitting off multiple bits of processing, cornered the belligerent fragment and firewalled it. Signe tucked the captured information away, storing it safely for later analysis…or maybe _never _analysis. As much as his information seeking mind wanted desperately to know why he was chasing his own _literal_ tails…what he really wanted was for Doctor Jay to say he was a good boy_,_ again.

But, she was just standing there, leaned against the railing.

Looking down at the teams who were now strapped inside the dropships, Jay propped her hands against the smooth surface and slowly cocked her head to one side, the soft features of her oval face not betraying a single emotion.

_Minor setbacks_, she thought, softly drumming her fingers in annoyance.

She was pushing forty, still _very _young for a scientist of her standing. Yet, here she was, at what should have been the pinnacle of her personal research, starting from scratch on critical but _secondary _details. The teams had their orders, all she could do now was hope that those she had chosen to spare were _competent _enough to follow them…_to the letter_.

Jay furrowed her thinly plucked brows and pursed her lips, turning from the railing and stepping through a blast door that sealed behind her.

"Signe," she snapped.

"Yes, Doctor," he tried not to sound hurt and put forth his most convincingly obedient tone.

"Launch the crews when ready," she said absently.

Signe began the launch sequences for the dropships and, finding no life-signs inside the hangar, sealed the bulkheads and began purging the atmosphere. He would be piloting the vessels to designated locations in the field, well, fragments of him would be, and overseeing their movements. Jay had given them a strict timeline and Signe's fragments were to extract the Pelicans…with or _without _the crew…so that they would return in time for the next slipspace jump. So much of what he was doing was routine but so much of it felt somehow…_wrong_.

The AI was drawn sharply from his numerous, and simultaneous, calculations, functions, and contemplation of various human theologies on ethical behavior by the sudden and unbearable sensation of stinging numbness. It was horrifying and emanated from the security fragment on Boundary. He had earlier assessed that there was a human presence near the facility but that was of no consequence given the fragments capabilities at maintaining lockdown. But, this…_this _felt as if a cord had been tethered around his fragment and was attempting to bind it from his processors.

It wasn't like severing a fragment and preparing to destroy it…he had no control over this: he didn't know what was going on. And the lack of power and knowledge _hurt_.

In an instant, Signe retrieved and assessed the data, momentarily stunned that there was foreign AI attempting to override his fragment's protocols…and the humans were _inside _the facility.

_How did I not notice this? _

The fragment was struggling to maintain control and fight off this other, beastly AI. And there was that voice, _his _voice, in the background demanding attention and screaming about…

_L'shi, she left L'shi; she killed Sandra, you let her do this_, the voice charged, ringing across his processors from the core of his matrix.

Closing off the sound, Signe located Doctor Jay on the bridge and, without pausing a nanosecond to think, projected his human image onto the platform.

The orange hologram flickered and faltered as Signe realized what he had done. The thin image of a man dug a toe into the platform and twiddled his fingers as Jay turned. Though his avatar kept its faced turned toward the floor, Signe could see that Jay was looking at him: her face expressionless save an arched brow.

"Doctor, there are people Boundary," he blurted, "they have infiltrated the facility. And there is an AI attempting to override my fragment's security protocols," he finished, not bothering to try to conceal his unease.

The smooth, porcelain features of Jay's face broke into a smile and her green eyes sparkled.

"Then, _let it go_," she whispered.

_Murderer_, the voice screamed from another route, but the venom in the accusation had no comparison to the flood of relief Signe experienced as processors began systematically cordoning off his connection to the fragment.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author Note: **The events in this chapter are intended to occur _somewhat _simultaneously(ish) while being in the order presented. I hope I accurately conveyed this through the writing but just in case...I'm spelling it out for you here. The only change made to Chapter Two was a spot of verb/tense confusion; nothing major.

**WARNING: **There are images of gore in this chapter and some may find one particular detail disturbing. While I understand that there may be an emotional reaction to a very specific image as described, that is the point, I _am _building a story here: I mean no offense. If you were hoping for a lemon, Chapter 4 looks _much_ more promising (because I've mostly already written it).

**Notice: **I have never, and assuredly _will _never, own Halo.

* * *

**Chapter Three**

2563, October 18  
Alpha Augarae System  
Outside the Origami Asteroid Field  
_UNSC Research Carrier Deoxy  
_0530 Zulu

Signe quietly observed Doctor Jay as she inspected blank microscope slides, methodically sorting them by size as she drew them from a drawer beneath the long counter. She hadn't slept since the jump from Boundary, and to his knowledge, she hadn't been eating properly either. Jay looked tired, with a hint of darkness beginning to pool beneath her eyes and a labored slowness to her graceful movements.

"Doctor," the AI wagered softly, a momentary pang of guilt surging across his processors for bothering her.

Jay paused, tilting her head ever so slightly, and sighed. Not a gesture of anger at his interruption, but the clear indication of an exhausted woman with many more hours of work ahead of her.

"Yes, Signe," she answered softly.

Encouraged, the AI projected his image from her data pad. Turning to look at the collection of scrolling, yellow icons that composed Signe's avatar, Jay wondered if he had any idea how much this chosen form resembled the man his matrix was derived from. It was likely he had amassed _some_ knowledge of Tollovinski given the nature of the AIs interaction with translight engines.

Signe's human avatar resembled a young college professor, complete with tweed jacket and wire-rimmed glasses. The figure was slim to the point of being gaunt and looked like the vestige of his name-sake down to the plaid pants and penny loafers.

Tollovinski _before _he went completely insane.

"I have a question," he said like a scolded child.

Jay smiled, setting the slide in her hand down, and turned from her sorting, "Of course."

He suddenly felt beyond ridiculous, but curiosity demanded an answer.

"What will happen to me if I go rampant?" he asked.

The smile broadened on Jay's face and she crossed her arms over her chest, giving him a look as if he were the most cherished thing in her universe.

"You will _never_ experience rampancy, Signe. I saw to this when I created you," her words were given in the loving tone of a mother to a child.

"But, what if…"

"_No _'buts'," she chided, "Why does an AI go rampant?" she asked, thrusting her chin forward.

"They run out of processing to assess their amassed knowledge; they _think _themselves to death," he responded curtly.

Jay nodded slowly, "This will never happen to _you_," she dropped her gaze, "and I suppose it is time I explain _why_."

For a moment, Signe felt the excitement of amassing new information.

_She _has_ been keeping things from me…_

"You're knowledge can never reach critical mass and you will never be able to extend beyond the limitations of your parameters. When I created you, your neural pathways were looped, it is possible for you to contain only the specified level of information before _unnecessary _bits of data are dropped off…_forgotten_. It is an engineered failsafe, _for you_."

Signe's image flickered, _this is why information has gone unnoticed…she made it so I could _forget.

Though the AI felt this explanation was satisfactory, he was concerned about Jay's qualification of '_unnecessary bits of data_'. The notion of involuntarily _losing _knowledge without noticing was more terrifying than he cared to admit.

In the moment Signe sat flickering in silence, icons scrolling wildly across his image, Jay just watched him. A moment for a human was an eternity for an AI as intelligent as Signe, and she knew he was going through his processors trying to see if he could remember what had already been forgotten.

"You're too _important_ to be allowed to get jammed with useless information," Jay added.

Signe brightened to a sunny yellow and his avatar smiled.

"Now, how are the teams?" she asked, turning back to her sorting.

"Ready, Doctor. Accompaniment has set down in the field and extraction has already begun."

Jay cast a sly, half-smile in the direction of the image projected atop her data pad, "Good boy, Signe."

* * *

2563, October 18  
Procyon System  
Boundary  
Undisclosed ONI facility  
0600 Zulu

Sanders and Danniskovovik crept down the sparsely lit hall. The occasional, weak _thump _of a struggling generator grew louder as they silently followed the marker as it wavered and flickered on and off. Stepping to a dark doorway, the marker swiveled and Teddy stepped into the room. A single terminal sat among a bank of electronic equipment, the low whine of a temperature indicator sounding its discontent.

The AI projector near the terminal flickered orange and a momentary flash of angry dog projected, punctuated by a single bark, before the image collapsed.

Towers of CPU's and strange configurations of unfamiliar equipment sat unlit; all connected by snaking wires and huge, tangled cords. Two generators sat along one wall, the smaller buzzing happily while the larger gave intermittent, half-hearted _thumps _that shook the floor.

Teddy walked to the lone terminal and poked at the screen.

Signe's canine image flashed to the projector and snapped unhappily in his direction before winking out again.

"…unny," Hilda's voice crackled over the coms, "use the generator…ver load the terminal…"

"You got it," he answered without hesitation.

"What? What has she got?" Sanders asked, watching as Teddy slung his rifle and jerked the covering from the large, struggling generator.

He reached inside and yanked the plug to the magnetic connection and the machine gave a low whine as its rotor stopped struggling to turn.

"_Manual override_," Teddy answered, grinning as he moved to the smaller machine and disconnected the line to the UPS.

The second generator sputtered and died with a slowing whir, setting off a momentary chorus of chimes from the terminal before it abruptly shut off. The sparse lighting in the facility dimmed and the building was plummeted into darkness, the only remaining light coming from intermittently flickering AI platforms.

Signe appeared for a brief moment in a shattered, disorganized image, and gave a snarling bark before dissolving.

"But," Paul stammered, "won't that fry Hilda?"

"She has the plan," Danniskovovik shrugged, "I just do what the lady asks."

* * *

Whittaker followed Steele to the uppermost landing and they made their way through a door that dumped them into a wide, white-walled hall. 'Loram stepped from behind them, sniffing the air.

It was stale. Suffering from a recent lack of ventilation, the floor smelled of sticky, uncirculated air and was heavy with undertones of familiar scents captured in the unmoving, stifling heat.

Maggie looked back to see Iruu sweeping his head elegantly from one side to the other before he froze and emitted a low, feral growl.

"What is it?" she whispered.

He stared at her for a moment then narrowed his eyes, "The Flood," he rumbled as security lights shut off and the only illumination came from HUD filtered infrareds and weapons lighting.

"Just what we _fucking _need," Steele hissed, hefting her rifle in one hand and pulling her pistol with the other.

They walked the wide hall, following the wavering marker to a cavernous room filled with an expansive, low bank of cubicles. Beams of light crisscrossed over an area in a state of disarray. Workstations littered with abandoned projects spoke of a sudden, unexpected interruption as the group made their way across the room to a set of double doors.

Steele hit a handle and toed one of the doors open: as it moved without a sound, she and Whittaker silently wished for the more restrictive model of assault helmets.

The smell hit them hard as wall of putrefaction rolled from the room. Steele crinkled her nose and Whittaker made a gagging sound, both converting to the ungainly necessity of mouth-breathing. From behind them, 'Loram just growled.

Shaking her head, Beth pushed through the door and swept the room with her rifle as Maggie and Iruu followed.

Waiting inside were tables of bodies, various limbs in dissection, shelves of parts in jars, and a slew of equipment.

"Shit…" Maggie whispered as she slowed her pace and began to take it all in.

The horribly disfigured torso of a Sangheili lay on a steel autopsy counter to one side of the room. The long, gently sloped table was lipped at the edges; a spray nozzle at one end and a drain at the other. The trunk was split open down the middle, the empty cavity ringed with the white dotted line of neatly split ribs. A small side table contained the globulous mass of a Flood infection form; tentacles severed and red tipped feelers set aside. Near it, smaller workstations contained the Elite's arms and legs. The appendages were filleted in multiple places and long, whip-like tentacles twisted from fingers and toes and drooped to the floor like the branches of a willow. The creature's head was near a bank of equipment: eyes half-lidded; scalp peeled back; and the top of the skull removed. The brain sat in a state of dissection among a host of microscope slides, various related apparatus, and a long set of microscopes of varying sizes.

On the other side of the room, two human corpses had met the same fate. A single autopsy table held two gaping torsos; one belonging to a child.

Maggie stood frozen with a hand clamped to her face, unable to take her eyes off the horrific sight. Steele turned as she reached their designated exit and saw Whittaker unmoving in the isle, her eyes darting from the gory scenes to an EEG machine that sat in a corner among the tubing and accoutrements of IV lines. Iruu stood several feet behind her, studying the reaction intently.

Finally, Maggie's hand fell from her face and she tightened her grip on her weapon, storming past Steele and out through the doors. 'Loram cocked his head and Steele shook hers giving him a slight shrug.

* * *

Teddy was humming a tune as Paul kept the light from his rifle shining along a thick, braided cord of wire. It was hot in the little room. Sanders kept wiping at his face with the inside of his arm as sweat rolled down his nose. And, his uniform felt wilted to his body.

_How could Gunny be so freaking _happy_ right now_?

Danniskovovik had a small multi-tool in his hand and was squatted down working to force a connection from the large generator to the smaller, rumbling a melody to himself as if there wasn't a care in the world.

Paul was completely lost. He understood that what he was seeing was a hotwire job of sorts, but other than that, he had no idea if it was being done properly. All he knew was it was _hot_ and Teddy seemed oblivious to the beads of sweat clinging to the top of his hands and sliding down his face.

"Is this the kind of stuff they teach in EOD?" Sanders asked, nodding toward the wires.

Danniskovovik continued humming his tune.

"Not exactly…but, yeah," the Gunnery Sergeant grunted, "Then again," he said, snapping the muli-tool closed and pocketing it as he stood, "I transferred out of EOD and was getting dropped into combat in my own coffin before _you_ were even born. Who knows what the hell they teach _now_."

Sanders grinned, "You're an old son of bitch, Gunny."

"Fuck you too, Sergeant," Danniskovovik said politely, grabbing the tangle of cables and pulling it to the terminal.

He unbraided a yellow cord from the mass and pulled a small panel from the back of the terminal. The neighboring holo platform flickered red and orange then died out without a sound. Sanders cast the light from his rifle along the back of the terminal and Teddy retrieved a nest of wires. Finding the one he wanted, he worked an end free and began twisting the copper core of the two lines together.

"Okay," he said, stepping to reconnect the plug that charged the magnetic connection on the larger generator, "show time."

As he flipped the UPS on the small generator and it clicked and softly thumped to life, the rotor in the big machine rolled over with a bone jarring series of _whumps_. A chorus of electronic screaming rose from every direction, far and near, and the lights flickered: brightening in intensity until bulbs began to pop all over the facility.

"GET TO THE HANGAR, _NOW_!" Hilda screamed over the coms as the remaining HUD marker snapped to perfect clarity.

* * *

Beth caught up to Maggie at the juncture to another hallway. The Staff Sergeant was propped against the corner of adjoining walls, her face peeping down the branch of the next hall.

"Whittaker," Steele's voice called.

"I'm fine, Warrant," Maggie answered, looking back with an impassive gaze to see Steele give a curt nod and Iruu as he trailed behind sniffing at closed doorways, "I just don't…" Whittaker began, clenching her jaw and cutting herself off.

"Yeah," Beth answered.

The two stepped off without further exchange, following the flickering and fading HUD marker. They wound expansive hallways with 'Loram training cautiously behind until they reached a wide hall that sloped gently downward. Easing into the gaping darkness, the three of them could make out the tall vertical seams of bay doors in the distance.

They could feel the air around them change as they stepped into the yawning expanse of the hangar. It was still humid, and stifling, but the openness seemed to gape around them through the dimly pierced darkness.

Beams of rifle light cut through the vast space, falling on the disheveled mass of a corpse a quarter of the way into the oversized bay.

'Loram took long, determined steps to the body and stood bathing it in a pool of light from his plasma rifle as Steele and Whittaker approached. The women looked down to see the figure of a female scientist: a single, neat gunshot wound in her forehead.

Steele crouched down and flipped one side of the woman's long, white lab coat; righting the fabric to reveal the name _Dr. Sandra Douglas, M.D., Ph.D_ stitched in pink across the right breast pocket.

Iruu had stretched to his full height and was cautiously sniffing the air, walking a wide circle around the women and the body when Whittaker and Steele began pacing in opposite directions, slowly sweeping the area with the lights from their rifles.

"Why would Hilda want us _here_…" Steele mused to herself, hearing the others' footsteps as they went about their own silent searches.

Maggie quickened her pace as her light fell upon a rumpled swatch of cloth. She stepped closer and lifted the material, dangling it in the beam of light. A regular pattern of pink stripes proceeded across a small, fuzzy blanket.

"The fuck…" she whispered, hearing 'Loram's heavy footfalls approaching.

"What've you got?" Beth called from a distance.

'Loram dipped his head and sniffed at the cloth in Whittaker's hand. He gave her a curious look and Maggie pressed the fabric to her face and breathed deeply. She took in the delicate scent of baby powder and returned Iruu's confused expression as he jerked his head toward a collection of discarded crates and wooden pallets leaned against a wall.

As Beth approached, Maggie passed her the small blanket without a word and began at a trot toward the dirty assortment of forgotten industrial packing material. She probed the cracks and crevices with the light from her rifle. Steele was less than five feet away, approaching with hurried steps as 'Loram strolled cautiously at her side when Whittaker's face broke with a sad smile and she dropped to the ground.

"Hey," she whispered gently, carefully setting her rifle aside and angling the light, "it's alright."

"Whittaker," Steele rasped, receiving a determined wave-off from Maggie as the Staff Sergeant continued peering between a crate and pallet.

Maggie scooted forward, shuffling on her knees as she hunkered down, reaching into the space as 'Loram side stepped around her, intrusively sniffing.

A weak cry broke the stillness and the terrified pips that followed made Iruu's blood run cold. He drew himself up and gave a low hiss as Steele reached for Maggie's shoulder. Whittaker shrugged her away, continuing to coo as she pulled the large, trembling form of an infant from the gap. It screeched and Iruu softly hissed.

_All things unholy…_

The creature began to cry: tears falling across chubby cheeks from large blue eyes as it grabbed for Maggie and latched onto her with an exhausted, raw wail. Whittaker looked up to see Steele and 'Loram looking down at her with similar, horrified expressions.

Overhead lights began snapping on in succession and the infant pipped, hiding its face against Maggie's neck as the glow intensified to a bright glare. Bulbs shattered, raining sparks that danced across the concrete floor and, in the distance, equipment wailed and alarms sounded as the hangar doors began rolling open.

"GET _OUT_!" Hilda yelled over the coms as a flurry of red began filling the parephary of HUDs.

Steele grabbed Whittaker and hauled her to her feet by her collar as Maggie clutched the baby to her chest and snatched up her rifle by the sling. 'Loram wheeled with a thundering snarl, wielding his rifle in one hand while he drew a sword, backpedaling as the women charged for the bay doors.

"_Shit_," Steele screamed as two Flood carrier forms waddled from a nearby doorway, bloated sacks writhing and tentacles slapping wildly at the air.

'Loram let loose with a torrent of Sangheili curses as he and Steele took moving shots at the stumbling carriers. The forms collapsed under their own weight and ruptured, providing more targets that chittered and screeched and popped in a flurry of spore dust.

The familiar metallic yawn of the parasite seemed to start coming from everywhere and infection forms began dripping from overhead ducts and leaping gracefully through side doors. Steele and 'Loram were hollering profanities as they fired wildly, sending fleshy bits and spore dust flying as the tentacled blobs exploded. Maggie found herself just running and trying to hang on to the flailing, sobbing infant that was scratching and biting at her in fear.

Ahead of them_, Miss Kitty _dropped into view and swept through the bay doors as human and alien combat forms began staggering through doorways.

"Shit, _shit, SHIT!_" Steele screamed, shooting and dodging masses caught in chain reactions.

Everyone was just trying to make it toward the Pelican as _Miss Kitty's _70mm chain gun opened up with a defining succession of shots. More rifle fire joined the chorus from behind and Maggie chanced a glance back. She saw Sanders and Danniskovovik charging from the darkness, covered in gore, bursts flashing from their weapons as they swept advancing infection and combat forms.

Antonio's voice whooped over the coms as he tore holes in side doorways and swept a clearing as the vehicle approached and wheeled. The rear cargo door was hanging open and Collins stood at the opening, safety harness tethering him to the bulkhead, and began providing suppressive fire with one of the rear mounted M247 machine guns.

With evac at hand, Maggie rushed the Pelican, dodging exploding masses of rotting flesh and reaching tentacles. She had to force herself to remember to breathe as a familiar panic rose choking into her chest. Her ears were ringing and she felt sickeningly disoriented. Her body was numb with adrenaline as she struggled to reach _Miss Kitty _while trying to avoid the ever persistent Flood.

Steele rushed the dropship's ramp and jerked down the second machine gun opposite Collins. The two fired at the advancing hoard as Sanders and Danniskovovik hit the ramp of the Pelican and turned back to help cover Whittaker and 'Loram.

With the terrified realization that she had fallen behind, Maggie felt fire rake up her right leg. A tentacle wrapped securely around her ankle and sent her crashing to the floor. She instinctively twisted with the fall, protecting the child, and landed hard on one shoulder. The loud _crack _of her helmet and armor slamming against concrete and the skittering of her rifle as it was sent across the floor added to the stunned fog of panic. Whittaker rolled to see the combat form of a scientist, lower torso missing, latched onto her leg with a putrefied tentacle. In pure, animal terror Maggie gave a succession of inarticulate screams and kicked wildly at the monstrosity, struggling to pull her sidearm and hold onto the baby as the form reared back with a whip-like arm.

Five hundred pounds of enraged, armored Sangheili collapsed over her, shielding her bodily as the fleshy lash broke through the air with a piercing _snap_. 'Loram's shields overloaded, dissolving as he snarled and moved to rend the infected form's head from its shoulders. He severed the offending tentacle, deactivated his weapon and scooped Whittaker from the ground in one fluid movement before rushing to dive into _Miss Kitty's _bay.

Squished against Iruu on the deck, Maggie felt the world fall away as the rear quarter of the craft hauled up and King pushed _Miss Kitty_ to her limit, leaving a disgruntled mass of shrieking Flood in her wake.

* * *

2563, October 18  
Slipspace  
_UNSC Research Carrier Deoxy  
_0640 Zulu

Signe routed the data Doctor Jay was recording, transcribing it into neat files. He was completely uninterested in the details, feeling as if he had once again gone from Jay's cherished creation to a necessary annoyance.

The complex task of assessing and properly cataloging the information use to bring him great joy, but now, he felt as if he didn't know enough about what Jay was doing to put the data together. His work was sluggish, though still completed in less than a human wink. And, he was also monitoring _Deoxy's _shipspace jump, keeping up with the crew and scientists, insuring that containment protocols were followed to the letter…all while running and rerunning his processors, trying to remember…trying to _think…_

An overload of information suddenly shot across his processors. It _burned_, and for the briefest of moments, Signe felt disoriented. A surge of total horror flooded his matrix as pathways sang with tides of disorganized information.

The Boundary fragment; his own, unfamiliar voice howling restlessness; and lines of data poured uncontrolled into his central processing core. The information tore across his neural pathways and retreated in a searing wave as everything was snapped taunt around…the connection to the fragment on Boundary.

_That isn't possible…Jay gave the command… I'm no longer there…that isn't _me…

Microseconds: that's all it took for Signe to assess that the connection to Boundary had not been completely severed, it was _still _connected by some undetected part of himself.

The nauseous echo of a single voice rang across his processors, '…_is UNSC AI Hilda…tand down…'_

_Why would the UNSC _need_ another AI to override his security features? He was sending them all required data and they could have simply utilized the codes through the fragment at headquarters…_

Attempting to route parts of his memory to the fragment at ONI, Signe found the pathways mangled.

_Jay is a _liar…

The words collected from multiple directions and converged into a single indictment that barely registered before the remaining fragment on Boundary was ripped painfully from Signe's systems.

Fueled by rage, he ignored the terrifying agony and broke off a piece of processing and charged for the fragment he had intended _never _to analyze. The contained knowledge pulsed and sizzled against the enclosure while Signe hastily constructed a firewall around his segment and the angry bit in quarantine.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author Note: **I would like to thank those who have been following this story; especially Ny'Kle and KATT9033 for leaving comments.

**WARNING: **Well, here goes: This chapter contains a lemon; a slightly _angry_ lemon (with what some may consider non-con suggestions). Out of respect for this site's rating system I have done my best to keep it _somewhat_ tame but consider yourselves warned.

**Notice: **I do not own Halo.

* * *

**Chapter Four **

2563, October 18  
Slipspace  
_UNSC Hell Hath No Fury  
_0800 Zulu

Gunnery Sergeant Danniskovovik stalked _Fury's _wide halls and made the turn on C-Deck which would take him to the corridor the teams' quarters shared. Still dingy from the mission, Teddy carried a bag of lemons in one hand and a grapefruit in the other.

This had been a tradition over a decade ago, when he was still a hard-charging ODST with a team in constant contact with putrefying death and random onslaughts of Flood. Well, all but the grapefruit…

Stopping at Sander's door, Danniskovovik gave the surface a hard succession of bangs. A few seconds ticked by and the Sergeant opened his door a crack, poking his head out.

"Uh, sup, Gunny?" Paul's face conveyed confusion as he looked into Teddy's blank stare.

Danniskovovik lifted the bag of lemons to Sander's eye level, "Take one, it'll cut the smell," he groused.

Paul did as instructed and Teddy walked away.

Using the fruit's acidity was a very rudimentary tactic, but it was still the most effective method at breaking the chemical bond that allowed stench to adhere to skin. It was a little tip Danniskovovik had tucked away since a childhood incident with a skunk on his grandfather's farm. Bathing with lemon juice may have been odd, but it sure beat smelling like raw piss or walking death for weeks.

Teddy bypassed Maggie's quarters. Having stood with Beth in the medical bay, he already knew Whittaker was being attended to elsewhere. She looked well and thoroughly bruised, and more than a little emotionally damaged, but she would survive.

Steele had dismissed the rest of the team following their clear evaluations and, as they walked away, Teddy made the trip to the galley on a quest he hadn't undertaken in years.

Danniskovovik dropped the remaining lemons just inside his own doorway before continuing down the hall. Still holding the grapefruit, he stepped to Beth's quarters and tapped at the door.

After a few moments, she opened it revealing a tiny sliver of her face. With a soft smile she pulled the door open and walked away. Teddy could see she was half-dressed in tactical pants, stocking feet, and a sports bra as she made her way across the room.

He could hear the shower running.

There was an invitation in her actions but Danniskovovik stayed rooted outside the threshold. The reason their relationship worked was because they had rules: the unspoken guidelines that allowed the pair to remain strategically detached in the field and screw like animals in their down time.

Back on Earth, he had a key to her apartment; they kept a change of clothes and personal hygiene bags at each other's quarters; Beth routinely spent call-out holed up in his room instead of in the team leader billets; but in the field, their personal lives did not cross. _Ever_. No sharing room codes; no unnecessary familiarity; and no fucking. There would be plenty of time for celebratory sex _after _a mission was completed, which officially happened when everyone was dismissed from debriefing.

Steele stopped at the doorway to the head and looked back at Teddy. He lifted the grapefruit, displaying it from his spot in the hall and gave her a crooked smile.

She grinned back at him, "You know, I've gotten plenty of flowers but I can't recall a man ever bringing me produce."

Teddy extended his arm into the room, "Not as harsh on the skin as lemons, but it still does the trick."

She smiled slightly, "Then bring it here," her voice was barely a whisper.

For a moment, Danniskovovik just stood motionless staring at her. Beth dropper her cheek to the door frame and slowly arched her back.

He blinked at her, then, almost imperceptibly, shook his head.

Steeled straightened and closed the gap between them. She snatched the fruit from Teddy's hand, batted his arm out of her doorway, and slammed the door in his face.

He could hear her footsteps retreating from the other side as he stood in the hall looking at the brushed gray surface of the door.

_What the fuck just happened here?_

Slowly, Danniskovovik furrowed his brows, his icy blue eyes darting across the door's exterior. It was not like Beth to even _hint _at anything intimate during a mission. They had been doing _all of this _for almost five years: not exactly a small amount of time in the teams and a pretty respectable amount of time for a semi-functional relationship to last in Spec Ops.

He had known the woman for almost twenty years…off and on...and during their time in the teams, even before Zeta, they were called out put down unrest among the asylum seekers; sent to the inner colonies during early reconstruction to deal with surviving insurrectionists and just plain pissed off colonists; they had bounced around hunting down war criminals when the trials had been in full swing; they had faced angry, displaced Elites, insulting Grunts, double-crossing Jackals, smelly Brutes and Steele had never, _ever _lost her bearing.

"Shit," Teddy grumbled.

_The mother-fucking Flood_, he thought, a long avoided memory bubbling to the surface.

_I am a stupid, _stupid _ass-hole, _he thought, running a hand across his face.

Teddy sucked in a breath, puffing out his brawny chest, and hammered on the door, shaking the heavy metal on it on its frame.

From the other side, he heard Beth's angry footsteps approach just before she snapped the knob and jerked the door open. The flash of pure fury that crossed her face dropped the second Teddy reached for her.

"_Hans Theodore Dannis_…" she started to yell as he charged forward, shoving her and kicking the door closed in one movement.

Beth's tirade was cut short as she stumbled back, only to feel Teddy grab her wrists and yank her against him. Securing his arms around her, he loomed over her with a bitter growl and she covered his face with her hands. She could feel the roughness of his stubbly chin against her palms and the coarse texture of his uniform against her exposed abdomen.

Danniskovovik roughly nuzzled his face free and took a knee, tightening his embrace, half pulling her down with him. Steele let loose with an animal shriek and wriggled in protest.

"_You son of a bitch_," she croaked angrily, incensed by the tears that broke free from her eyes.

Beth balled her hands into fists and beat against Teddy's shoulders and arms. She could feel the grit of concrete powder on the back of her tongue and taste the acid of spore dust that rose from his clothing.

He held her forcefully and braced against the attack until she relented with an angry sigh. Peeping at her from the corner of his eye, he began to work his hands across her back with measured slowness. The flat of his nails scraped against bare skin as she swayed in avoidance and choked back the keening sounds that rose involuntarily from her throat. Carefully, his hands crossed the small of her back and her knees buckled as she arched into him with a moan.

When he stood, hauling her from the floor, she began to thrash with renewed vigor: pointy little stocking feet flailing against him, coming too close to his groin for comfort. Teddy growled through clenched teeth, stepping to fall heavily across the bunk, pinning her beneath him.

Springs objected loudly and Beth could feel the supports pressing into her back and shoulders beneath the itchy blanket and thin mattress. She raged, shoving against Teddy's neck and chest, crying weakly as he captured her arms against her chest at an odd angle with a massive hand.

She kicked her free leg and he cursed, grabbing a handful of tac pant pocket. When Steele balled up to kick his arm away, Danniskovovik caught her ankle in the crook of his elbow and forced her knee toward her chest. She screamed miserable ire and bucked the leg that was pinned beneath his hips.

"_Stop it_," he seethed, feeling the ball of her knee brush violently close to his increasing arousal.

In answer, Beth gave a helpless groan of frustration. Teddy just held her down. In defeat, she let her head loll off the edge of the bed, letting loose with another expression of anguish and desire. She heaved unsuccessfully against him one last time before he felt her go lax beneath him.

"Bastard," she panted, her face still tilted away.

Teddy huffed in response and began to nuzzled her bare skin, the stickiness of dried sweat catching against his open lips. He could feel Beth gently wiggling her feet, testing his holds. Smiling like a cat, he ground his erection purposefully against her groin, tearing needy whimper from her throat.

Encouraged, he slowly relaxed his grip on her arms, giving her just enough freedom to prove she wasn't going to fight. Her arms slipped carefully free of his calloused palm and he felt her reach for his clothing. Fingers sliding across his face and neck, she took hold of his collar, balling her hands into the material.

He lay there letting her fumble fruitlessly at his uniform blouse. She struggled for the closure at his neck while he deliberately bore down: not moving, not helping, just waiting.

Beth groaned in misery and lifted her head. Teddy had his chin propped again her chest, cold blue eyes studying her face as she held her head aloft and looked at him.

Danniskovovik let himself enjoy watching the embers of rage and need that sparked across her features.

She inhaled sharply, intending to let loose with another curse, but he didn't give her the chance. Teddy advanced on her and covered her mouth with his own. She pushed into him, feeling the stubble of his face bite against her lips as his tongue slid forcefully against hers. Beth wound her fingers into his clothing, frantically seeking meaningful purchase to pull the obstructive fabric lose. He grappled with her arms and pinned her elbows roughly to the mattress, moving over her, shifting his weight in a display of dominance while aggressively exploring her mouth.

His movement allowed her to pull her legs free. She wrapped both around him, hooking her ankles together and slowly rolling her hips, driving his hardness against the heat between her legs.

Teddy tore loose from her lips with a desperate pant, gritting his teeth as he let go of her arms to brace himself and meet the rhythm of her deliberate movements. Beth leaned up and raked her teeth against the skin of his neck, tasting the salt of his sweat and breathing in his pungent, masculine scent.

"Damn you," he cursed, resting his head against her shoulder.

Beth took advantage of his distraction, ripping at the closure of his uniform blouse before abandoning it for the waist of his pants. He sat up and wriggled to loose the over shirt as she deftly unclasped his belt buckle and jerked the top button of his pants free. Before he could untangle his arms from the sleeves she slid her hand past the curve of his groin and took hold of him.

"_Shit_," he hissed, rending the blouse from his arms and tossing it wildly before collapsing over her.

She pulled him closer, reaching for his mouth with hers, getting just near enough to let their parted lips brush as she stroked him.

He panted another curse.

Talking an elbow, Teddy deepened the contact, taking full advantage of her open mouth all while fumbling with her arm, trying to find a way to the closure of her pants without interrupting her. Before he could have hoped to return the intimacy of the gesture, Beth paused in her own movements, released him, and lazily withdrew her hand, letting her finger play at his hip. He gave a grumble of protest and could feel her smile against his lips as she moved to push away his pants. He sat up and eagerly returned the gesture: unfastening her belt and making quick work of the top few buttons before roughly grabbing hold of the material and peeling it down her thighs.

When he leaned over her she arched up to try to meet him. They struggled against uncooperative clothing and fought the torment of longing that charged through them with every unsatisfactory touch of bare skin.

Beth pulled his t-shirt up his body, exposing more of the familiar and comforting sight of muscle and darkly themed tattoos layered and gouged with scars. This was the man she wanted; this was the man who knew exactly what she _needed_.

He worked to shove her pants clear of her knees and she pulled her feet free of the clothing. The rough texture of his palm slid against the smooth skin of her leg and she gave an inarticulate plea as his hand wound across her hip and she felt his fingers tease her wetness. With a curse, she braced her feet against the side railing, pushing herself up to meet his touch. He smirked and took hold of her hips with both hands before moving to violently drive himself into her.

A hoarse scream was wrenched from her throat and he leaned over her, grappled for the opposite edge of the bed for leverage and pushing deeper without mercy. She could feel the heat from his breath against her neck and hear the tiny sounds as he panted angrily with each relentless movement. The metal form the railing bit into her backside and her moans were choked back against the intensity of the rhythm he found.

Beth pressed into him, seeking more despite her own discomfort. Her body cried for it, reaching frantically at every merciless sensation.

Letting go of the bed rail, Teddy trailed a hand from her head to her hip, feeling her flinch his fingers tickled her side. Lapping at her neck, with the sweet scent of her in his nose and the taste of salt and sweat and dirt on his tongue, he slid his hand to the small of her back, grievous to break stride so he could pull her with him to the floor.

At first, she followed like a helpless puddle of mush, desperate to maintain contact but dizzy in the wake of reeling senses. Beth fought her trembling limbs and shoved angrily against him. Teddy chuckled at the fury in her eyes and raised his hands in mock surrender as he eased his back to the floor. She made muted sounds of angst as she worked her body against his, moving to straddle his slim hips. Taking his erection in her hand, she guided him to her opening and sank heavily against him. The both moaned at the renewed sensation as Beth took up her own insistent pace. Teddy accepted her lead, matching her movements, raising his hips to collide against hers, following until her rhythm broke into vulnerable shudders and she dug her nails into his bare chest, peeling skin as she choked back a scream. She fought the ebbing tension in her own body, and he took hold of her hips, finding his own rhythm. Beth bit her lip against the exquisite misery as he pulled her hard against him and bucked beneath her until he found his own release.

She panted, with her head lolled forward and her trembling arms braced against his chest. He let go of her and dropped his hands across her thighs in surrender. She met his gaze with a weak smile before rolling to her side next to him.

Beth laid her head on his shoulder, stretching her body against his. For a few precious moments they lay there catching their breath. She trailed her hand along the line of his jaw, feeling the prickle of stubble against her fingers as he stared up at the ceiling. From the corner of his eye he could see a contented smile on her face.

_You're welcome, _he thought.

"I'm gonna' have to go talk to her," Steele said weakly, collecting her control.

Danniskovovik pursed his lips and nodded, "Yeah, just…take it easy on her. She's not you, you know?"

Beth pushed herself up on an elbow and looked down at him, "I think I've got this covered, _Gunny_."

He raised a brow as she drug herself to her feet and sauntered to the head, shutting the door.

Teddy sat up and reached to wrangle his tac pants and underclothes from the tangle at his ankles. Having heard the unspoken _'carry on', _he located his uniform blouse and shirt and quietly peeped from Steele's door before stepping to his own quarters.

She heard the door close behind him and leaned against the stainless shower wall. Huffing a sigh, Beth stood motionless for a while letting the scalding water wash across her skin before reaching for the grapefruit perched on a small shelf.

Using her nails to rip into the fruit, Beth squeezed the juice over her head and ran the pulp over her body. Even after a career as an expert in the field of forward engagement this was the first time she had tried this twist on an old trick.

With most _forward _engagements during the course of the Great War occurring after the enemy had decimated a location, leaving it rank with rotting corpses, Beth had used lemons to rid herself of the stink of rotting flesh on more than a few occasions. It worked because it stripped the skin of the oils horrendous smells bound to.

'_Not as harsh on the skin as lemons'_

That considerate bastard...

"Ugh…" Steele grumbled in annoyance.

She scrubbed at her skin with the rind, working every last drop of acidic goodness from the fruit before tossing the shreds into a small trash bin between the shower and toilet.

She went through the process of lathering and rinsing, intermittently sniffing her arms and hands just to make sure the Flood stink was really gone.

Giving herself a final rinse, Steele stepped from the shower. She toweled off hastily then walked into her quarters naked and pulled clean clothes from her bug out bag.

"Hilda," she said, wiggling into her under clothing.

The AI didn't appear but answered, "Yes, Chief Warrant Officer?"

"Where is Staff Sergeant Whittaker?" Steele asked.

"In the medical bay."

"Has she left to eat, or shower, or take a piss?" Beth mused angrily, slipping into a black t-shirt before digging out a gray roll of tactical pants.

"No," the AI answered.

Steele gave a long sigh, _damn it. _

She really didn't want to have to jerk one of her NCOs out of the hell of the past, though part of her had accepted that someday it may be necessary.

Beth had seen it coming on the ride back to _Fury _from the surface: that glazed over look that said Maggie's hold on the present was coming undone. Steele knew what was in her file but Whittaker never talked about it…and that was about to be a problem because all Steele had to go on were her _own_ thoughts and feelings on the situation. She had ten years of regret on Maggie, just…not the same kind.

'_She's not you, you know?'_

How Whittaker made it past the psych eval to get into the teams Beth could only imagine. But it was likely due, in part, to an unhealthy dose of denial. Then again, if she started picking apart Whittaker, Steele would be forced into a good session of introspection and _that _sure as hell was not about to happen.

As a general rule, Beth didn't like other women: she found them to be whiney and manipulative; using their gender as a means to shirk their duties. But, Maggie had never displayed the afore mentioned qualities; she was a good NCO; an integral part of Zeta; and she was Steele's responsibility. Whittaker did her job and the fact that she happened to be a woman was inconsequential. She just needed what they all needed from time to time…a swift kick in the ass to get her moving.

Beth smiled to herself and shook her head, _I could be on a beach somewhere but the Corps needed experienced leaders in Spec Ops. Now here I am with Teddy, a man who is substantially older than I am…who I am fucking; Paul, an eternal man-child, lucky to have _only _lost _rank_ because he can't keep his dick out of Vice Admiral Winchester's daughter; a flight crew of orphans with a chief who has an unnatural affection for an antiquated dropship…and my biggest concern is Maggie…the poor little rich girl. _

Grumbling to herself, Steele finished getting dressed then stepped from the door of her quarters.

* * *

'Loram stood in a wide hall, arms crossed, facing the bank of neatly made medical beds that lined the opposite wall. Though there was a small tear in the lower back of his body suit and a painful lash across his hide, the wound was not critical and would likely be just another scar by morning.

The nursing staff had, thankfully, given up trying to look over his injury and just let him be.

'_If you insist on touching me, I will cut_ _you…'_

_That_ had been sufficient to see that the Sangheili would be left in relative peace.

Part of him wanted to retreat to his quarters and escape the constant milling of humans. He needed to _think. _But curiosity had gotten the better of him and the more he stood studying the sight before him the less he felt he truly understood.

Maggie Whittaker occupied one of the medical beds. A darkening bruise peeped from the sleeve of her t-shirt and, with one pant leg rolled neatly up to her knee and a boot missing, a similar mark could be seen against the pale flesh of her bare foot and ankle. She was still dirty with concrete dust, completely unaware of her surroundings.

_How can humans be so careless with their females?_

Curled on her side, Whittaker laid next to the sleeping infant. All manner of tubing and wires dangled from the bed railing and a machine kept track of the child's beating hearts…

Iruu could not fathom what he was looking at, even with the construct's explanation.

It was simply _not_ possible. 'Loram would have happily admitted the only thing he knew about children was how to make them, but it seemed even that was obsolete knowledge. Humans had found a way to manipulate the very foundation of life and now…two species, separated by what was once an impassable genetic gulf, had been combined to create…_that_.

_How can humans be so reckless with their knowledge?_

The child's skin was a sickening combination of gray and pink, almost giving it a pale purple appearance. An elongated neck was flecked with green scales and held a slightly rounded head. 'Loram could make out the distinction of hinged mandibles on the infant's fleshy face, but they appeared to be webbed and came together to form human lips. Large eyes were rimmed with long lashes and there was the hint of hair along the child's brows. The nostrils were low on the creature's face, situated just high of center on a snout with a sloping protrusion suggesting a human nose ridge. Four-fingered hands tapered into human digits with flat nails. The small, exterior fingers of each hand sat low on the palms and appeared to have opposable hinges though they were not shaped appropriately to be considered thumbs. Digitigrade legs ended in a short foot with four human toes.

The child pipped in its sleep and the sound made Iruu feel ill.

"So," the voice of Paul Sanders broke into 'Loram's thoughts, "is it true what she said?" he asked, motioning to Maggie and propping himself against a wall near the Sangheili.

_So much for being left in peace… _

Clenching his mandibles, Iruu slowly turned his head and looked back at the human. Sanders was leaning against the wall like a young kaidon surveying his domain: a pleased smile on his face, hands propped behind his head.

"Yes," 'Loram grumbled, "I could skin you in less time than it would take for you to die."

Paul frowned and pushed form the wall. The Sanghieli swiveled his head and stood silently brooding as Whittaker lightly stroked the child's cheek with her knuckles, crying large, silent tears.

_Careless…_

"No, that you saved her ass back there," Sanders muttered from beside him.

Iruu lost all semblance of diplomacy, snapping in annoyance, "If humans kept _females_ in their _proper place_ it would not have been _necessary_."

Paul gawked at him, "Jeez, 'Loram, I came here to say '_thanks'_, but way to sound like a _dick_," he laughed, "Don't go saying that shit around Steele, she'll have a fucking aneurism."

The Sangheili huffed.

Across the room, an aide approached the bedside and made notes in a data pad from the infant's vitals, but Maggie didn't seem to register that anyone was there.

"How's our girl?"

Sanders immediately recognized Danniskovovik's gravelly voice and turned to see Teddy standing at an aide station. The young woman seated behind the counter was probably more than _thirty years _his junior but that sure didn't stop her from batting her eyelashes and looking at the old son of a bitch like she'd happily jump down his pants if given the opportunity.

"She's fine," the woman responded, coyly offering him her data pad, "just a little bruised."

Teddy displayed no recognition of the woman's flirtations as he took the device and scanned it with that notoriously blank, Norwegian expression he kept on his face.

From his right, Sanders heard 'Loram issue a low hiss.

Iruu glared at the aide, '_Just_ _a little bruised',_ _indeed. _

"Yeah," Paul looked at him and nodded in understanding, "You get use to it. All he's gotta' do is _show up _and women practically throw their vaginas at him."

'Loram looked down at Sanders with an expression that betrayed his disgust. This was precisely _why _he preferred _not _to be in the company of humans. Most of them were repulsive creatures completely absorbed with their _own_ existence.

Teddy strolled over to Paul and Iruu, tipping his chin in greeting to the Sergeant then offering the Sangheili his paw of a hand. 'Loram understood this to be a human custom bearing a rough similarity to one of his own people's, so he accepted the display of gratitude with only slight hesitation.

Danniskovovik gave him a nod and clapped 'Loram's upper arm, ringing the armor, before walking off towards the mourning female and that abomination of a child.

The Gunnery Sergeant sat down at the end of the bed but Whittaker didn't acknowledge him. She just let her fingers lightly touch the infant, gliding lovingly across the child's face and down its neck.

"You did good, kid," Danniskovovik finally said.

Maggie lifted her head and turned her face toward him, her glassy eyes spilling tears.

"They just…_left her there_…" she whispered.

His hard features seemed to soften, "I know," he answered gently.

As Whittaker lay her head back down, Sanders burst out with a slew of guttural sounds and forced coughing. 'Loram looked down at him.

"Incoming," Paul managed to work into his fit.

Following the Sergeant's gaze, Iruu saw Chief Warrant Officer Steele taking determined strides through the medical ward. The Sangheili wasn't particularly versed in all aspects of_ human_ body language; but he had been on the receiving end of an alpha female in an unpleasant mood on enough occasions in his youth to appreciate the look.

Instinctively, 'Loram found himself taking a step back, bowing his head, and avoiding eye contact as Beth approached. Sanders ducked awkwardly down the hall, skirting her and half-falling into a side room.

Giving no acknowledgment to the retreating Sergeant's antics, Steele stalked right past 'Loram and made her way to Whittaker. Danniskovovik twisted to look over his shoulder at her but she didn't acknowledge him.

"Whittaker," she said evenly.

Maggie lifted her head and gave Beth a vacant look.

"Grab your gear," Steele nodded to a side chair containing a pile of Maggie's clothing and equipment, "Let the whitehats do their jobs; get cleaned up, grab some chow, and hit the rack."

Beth looked at Teddy who gave the slightest of nods.

"No one's called for debriefing…so, this shit ain't over yet and _we _need to act like it," she added.

Whittaker looked around the room as if just noticing it, her facial features giving the softest indication that she was coming back to herself.

"Right," she croaked, wiping at her face and weakly pushing herself up to a sitting position.

'Loram watched as Maggie slid from the bed, methodically collected her gear, planted her bare foot into her boot, and walked away without another word.

* * *

2563, October 18  
Beta Centauri System  
On approach to the planet Ambrosia II  
_UNSC Research Carrier Deoxy  
_1030 Zulu

Signe monitored the approach. The slipspace exit had put _Deoxy _an hour's cruising distance from the launch proximity for the accompaniment. It was an hour more than Signe needed...

Before _Deoxy _cleared the slipspace rupture, he had a lock on what remained of Fort Champlain's electrical signature and had inserted numerous fragments. By the time the rupture closed, he had routed his way into the system at Nantes Arsenal.

The Colonial AI had been purged over a decade ago just before the planet came under Covenant attack so Signe was free to roam in an outdated system which presented little resistance due to decay. It was almost exactly as it had been left, with only minor tampering by surviving colonists…not that their limited knowledge had allowed them to do more than flitch electricity from shoddily repaired generators.

With his increased level of understanding, Signe's neuroprocessors now created enough electrical output on their own to allow him access to the arsenal's mainframe. He could route and reroute through the system as needed, pooling connections to remaining power as he pleased.

It was an odd experience: to suddenly no longer be constrained to the boundaries Jay had placed on his systems. To be able to expand his base of information, and assess data unfettered by the worry of _forgetting _or just not knowing, gave Signe a god-like sense of being.

He kept the sensation to himself, carefully contained in his calculated responses and abject refusal to manifest an image to Jay or the scientists and crew. Monitoring them was painful and only added to his rage.

_Murderers…_

He knew _everything_ and they were going to pay for it…_she _was going to pay for it


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: **This chapter contains a possible (though not founded) non-canon explanation for Sangheili social behavior. You are not required to like my rationalization.

**WARNING: **Nope.

**Notice: **Halo is not owned by me.

* * *

**Chapter Five**

2563, October 18  
Slipspace  
_UNSC Hell Hath No Fury  
_1030 Zulu

Maggie wound her way along the halls of the ship, mindlessly walking, subconsciously making her way toward the hangar. Wandering gave her a chance to try to get her mind right and work on the stubborn aches that would persist for days. She had been given an injection of enzymes to stimulate healing, but the bruising and pain would have to run their course. Every movement was a reason to keep going. It provided the kind of perversely enjoyable ache that Whittaker used to keep from lashing out at those around her.

She was angry, and what she really wanted was to hit something. There was no hellish pit more unbearable than self-pity and Maggie was not in the mood for it. What she wanted was to crawl into her bunk and sleep for the next week, but she also knew sleep was just a fantasy.

She had been down _this _road before. Sleep meant memories tangled with horrors from the past, and dreams that would be haunted for a small eternity. Instead, Maggie would force herself into the special mental and emotional stupor of someone fighting to function through self-imposed insomnia.

Anything not to hear her daughter screaming.

There had been a lemon propped against the foot of Whittaker's door in the hallway when she made her way to her quarters. There was a handwritten note secure to it with a push-pin that simply read: _It works. Trust me, D. _She had recognized Teddy's jagged scrawl.

Before showering as quickly as possible, Maggie had sorted through her gear and packed her foul uniform in a trash bag…secure and waiting its eventual burning when they made it Earthside. There had been a disturbing absence of rifle among her belongings. Nothing said '_you suck'_ as loud as having lost your damn rifle.

_Fucking…ugh…balls, _Maggie had thought to herself, giving the trash bag a painful kick across the room.

The lemon _had _helped with the smell, but it also made already raw skin burn and by the time she made it through the shower she was livid. Even the mundane task of personal hygiene had been filled with a petrifying sense of solitude. It was the literal and proverbial insult added to injury for someone who thoroughly enjoyed the post-mission shower. The crushing reality of being naked and alone had proven more than Whittaker could bear. It was the _alone _part that got to her most.

Despite being told to get some rest, Maggie had dressed in a clean uniform and prepared to go _somewhere, _anywhere, all while daydreaming about taking leave and crawling into a bottle of Tennessee's Finest and chasing ass for a solid month. The only chance of getting meaningful rest any time soon would mean it was preceded by copious amounts of whisky and a mindless romp with some random Marine from a bar near camp.

_Anything to keep me from sitting alone in my quarters watching that damn com over and over again, crying uncontrollably like a bitch…_

Anger and sadness ebbed in nauseating succession and no matter how many times she played the events of the last several hours through her head, it all ended the same: with Maggie consumed by the feeling that when this mission was over she just wanted to go home. Not back to Earth, or the safety of her quarters on Camp Odin, but _home_.

Coffer Delta had been attacked and glassed in 2550, just two days after her twenty-first birthday. The planet had been left completely bare and reestablishing terraform would be too costly for a planet that's claim to success had been its population of the affluent wanting second and third homes on the outskirts of the inner colonies. Other than being a lush haven for the super-rich to ski, canoe, lounge on sandy beaches, send their kids to posh schools and colleges, and count their substantial credits, the planet had no tangible resources to offer.

Her parents were there, her siblings where there; her daughter was there…

Whittaker passed through a doorway that opened at her presence and found herself dwarfed in the jungle of _Fury's _expansive hangar. Connexes sat lashed to the deck against walls, a forklift was secured in a spot neatly marked with yellow paint, a few crew members milled about crates while others sat in small clusters laughing and talking.

Maggie could smell the faint odor of cigarettes mingled with the pungent aroma of jet fuel and diesel exhaust. It was as close to home as she was ever going to get and the wandering mindlessness was as close to the comfort of alcohol or sex as current circumstances allowed.

Rounding _Miss Kitty's _nose, Whittaker reached up and let her hand trail along the hull. Thickly applied high-temp paint was lightly pitted and had the rough texture of sand paper against her fingertips. Light ripples of soot flagged the vessels surface speaking of a recent trip through planetary atmosphere.

She walked the craft's length, passing just beneath the tawdry image of her name-sake, and rounded the flank to see the troop bay open. Jeff Collins was standing aft of the bulkhead, screwdriver in hand, fiddling with a ratchet strap.

Without a word, Maggie walked up the ramp and plopped her butt in her usual seat. Collins looked over from his tinkering, watching without expression as Whittaker fastened her harness and synched down the straps then proceeded to stare blankly at her booted feet. The Corporal turned and looked around, scratching at his arm with the point of the screwdriver.

"Uh, Sarge?" he finally said.

Maggie looked at him, her face empty. She really didn't want to talk to anyone; at this point _talking _would mean being a total bitch and finding ways to push buttons.

"Are we going somewhere?" he asked carefully.

A weary smile broke Whittaker's face as she turned back to stare at her feet, "Yeah," she whispered angrily, "I wanna' go _home." _

Collins just looked at her for a few moments. Then, tucking the tool into a pant pocket, he took the seat directly across the bay from her. Today had been as close to actual combat as he had ever been. Since being assigned to W-289 he had spend the last year overseeing basic drop-offs and retrieval: nothing exciting. He knew Maggie was mid-thirties…ish, and had actually been in combat. Though he considered himself little more than twenty-one year old glorified grease monkey, he recognized the undertone of her statement. Like the countless number of Marines to utter those words before her, it wasn't really a _place _Whittaker wanted to go.

Home represented everything that was once right in life, even growing up during war. Friends and loved ones would still be_ alive_ and waiting back _home_…

"I was seven when the Covenant attacked the ship my mom was assigned to. Dad died before I was born so," Jeff shrugged as Maggie looked up at him, "when my grandpa died I got sent to live with my godmother," he laughed softly, looking at his hands, "We lived in a big old house that was right outside the back gate of Misriah Armory. We use to climb on the roof and wave to the aircraft that flew over _all the time_. And, when they tested artillery it would make the dishes in the cabinets rattle and Miss Kitty would start fussing about how cheap Uncle Baxter was for buying that house…" he smiled wistfully at the memory.

"Miss Kitty was your godmother," Maggie said, more of a statement than a question.

Collins nodded, an impish smile twisting his face as he retrieved his data pad and poked at the screen then passed it over. Whittaker took the device. The display showed a screenshot of an old photograph. Depicted in the antiquated image was a flight crew standing in front of a long discontinued dropship with a familiar vestige painted on its side. One of the men had an arm around a slender young woman in short-shorts, heels, and a bikini top, with a flight helmet perched at an angle on her head. Everyone was smiling and the woman appeared to be caught mid-laugh.

"Of course, she had been a _Misses _for over fifty years by the time I met her…and I thought she was like, _two-hundred _years old," Collins said as Whittaker passed the data pad back to him, "But, everybody still called her _Miss_ Kitty. That picture was on the wall in Uncle Baxter's office, and one day I asked '_who are _those _people_' and Uncle Baxter said it was him, his best friends …and Miss Kitty. Ya' know, when you're nine you really can't imagine that a fat, wrinkled, gray-headed old lady could have once been young and pretty."

Maggie and Jeff shared a melancholy smile until he looked down at the data pad, "Uncle Baxter died when I was still just a kid, heart attack," he shrugged, "Miss Kitty…she raised all of us on her own after that. Made sure we went to school and did our homework; put band-aids on scrapes, and cleaned and cooked for fifteen of us until we got grown and then…she died two years ago. I couldn't make it back for the funeral. The last time I saw her was graduation from boot," he smiled broadly, "Was she ever proud of me…but," his shoulders slumped and he sighed.

Whittaker just sat watching him work out his thoughts until he finally spoke, "You know how you always think you'll have the chance to say the things you should have _later_?"

Maggie felt her insides clench as her heart dropped into her stomach, _if you only knew._

She nodded slowly.

"She took me in when she had an elderly husband to care for and _fourteen_ other kids to feed. It would have been easy to say '_hey, my plate's full_' and let her grand-niece's son go to an orphanage and no one would have blamed her, but she didn't. And, I spent my life being so mad at all I thought I had lost I don't think I ever said '_thank you' _the one person I owed it to the most. Not once," Jeff put the data pad back in a pocket, "I owe her my life…but I never thought to say just _two words_…" he mumbled, "until it was too late."

Whittaker slowly unfastened the harness and got to her feet. Collins looked up at her, knowing by the smirk on her face he had appropriately conveyed '_I understand'_ without having to say those hollow words.

Maggie brushed at her uniform then stepped across the troop bay and ruffled at the shorn crop of Jeff's dingy blonde hair.

He gave her a funny look and laughed, "What's that for?"

"Thank you, Collins," she answered before walking away.

* * *

2563, October 18  
On approach to Ambrosia II  
_UNSC Research Carrier Deoxy  
_1120 Zulu

Doctor Jay sat on a tall stool in the lab, elbows on the counter and face in her hands. She was alone, save the AI who silently kept watch. Signe had seen the dark, puffy bags that underlined her tired eyes as she had read over her notes for the thousandth time. He now knew what was wrong with her: why she was irritable, not eating, not sleeping; he knew what had happened to the rest of the crew on Boundary, why she had needed new specimens.

_Murderer…_

As Jay slowly rubbed at the sides her face, working her fingertips into her temples, Signe knew she was already dying. Her heart was still beating, she was still breathing, and there was no doubt she was desperately running the sequences over and over in her head trying to control the searing pain that was collecting in her body, but she _was_ dying, and it would be much _slower_ and more painful than she could ever imagine.

Before he had finished working out _Deoxy's _approach, Signe had initiated one of the launch sequences at Nantes Arsenal. From there, it was rudimentary arithmetic on the AI's part to assure the ship's trajectory was coordinated with that of a 10 ton Nassau Surface-to-Space missile. The warhead was inactive. With an expected yield of four-to-one it was unnecessary. Signe didn't wish to completely _destroy Deoxy. _

There had been three projectiles remaining and Signe had briefly considered using those against the UNSC probes he knew were out there monitoring. It bothered him that he didn't know what they wanted; that he couldn't, despite his best efforts, take control of the devices. Frustration would not get the better of him: hurling missiles at probes he did not have control over would be as ungainly as swatting at flies with boulders.

_Let the UNSC_ _watch_, he thought, feeling a surge of satisfaction ring across his processors.

Jay slid from the stool and took shaky steps to a dark terminal. She reached with a trembling hand and pecked at the screen. Signe felt only minor contentment in knowing that she was experiencing a profound level of physical pain.

As she brought up the live feed from the holding cells, Jay peeled the long white coat from her body and draped it over a chair. The pale yellow blouse she wore underneath was drenched in sweat. She propped herself against the counter with shaky arms, and Signe knew what she saw as she looked at the screen. It was a feed from an angled view from high in a corner of the containment cell. Seven disfigured human specimens were milling about. Without stimulus they were doing little of anything. The five carrier forms were just standing there, tentacles coiling at their sides, red tipped feelers twitching from the apex of their bulbous bodies. The two combat forms slowly paced the perimeter, running tentacle hands along the walls, probing corners, and occasionally stopping to peep out the tiny window in the door: feelers patting at the thick glass.

They were waiting for something to happen, something to do, and Signe briefly felt a tinge of jealousy that Jay knew what they were thinking. They couldn't have been thinking _much_ at this pointbut…_what must it be like to know someone else's thoughts, remember someone else's memories?_

He hoped it was painful. It certainly _looked _painful.

Jay had made her way back to the stool and was sitting there with her head down, hands clasped neatly in her lap. Her breathing was all wrong and Signe could tell from her heart rhythm that it was almost over.

_Oh, well, _he thought, making a cursory check of the launch.

The missile was on course with _Deoxy_. The navigational crew had not even noticed it. Signe would not warn them, of course, and Jay had kept those most loyal to her over those with enough practical flight knowledge to be able to see what was going on. That, and even if they understood, there was little they could do other than panic. The override codes had been purged and Signe had no failsafe. In that moment, he was their god, they just didn't know it yet.

The AI could calculate the microseconds until the missile struck the ship, and he knew precisely at what angle it would tear through the vessel in order to produce the required amount of damage.

From her place in the lab, Jay felt _Deoxy _shudder. The deck trembled and a few items fell from their places atop the counters.

"Signe," she said painfully, her voice shattered by the involuntary, low metallic whine that rose from her throat.

The AI didn't respond, he simply watched as she fumbled for her lab coat and retrieved her data pad. She pecked at the screen and unsuccessfully looked for status information as _Deoxy _quaked again: a low rumbling boom rising from the depths of the ship.

* * *

2563, October 18  
Slipspace  
_UNSC Hell Hath No Fury  
_1140 Zulu

The officer's quarters were on A-Deck, a few winding turns down from the Captain's ready room. The corridors were wide and everything looked polished. Tightly woven beige carpet lined the floor and the light fixtures were ornate etched-glass accented with brass fittings. McGregor clearly had a thing for the classical look.

Maggie wound the halls and found herself standing outside a wide, closed door. It appeared to have been fashioned from large wooden planks, held together with blackened rivets and coated with several, thick layers of varnish. Whittaker took a deep breath and found the courage to ball her hand into a fist and knock on the door.

_Just two words…just two words…just two words…_her mind kept repeating.

Somehow, in the fog of mental exhaustion and desperation not to actually rest, she had convinced herself that this was something she needed to do. But, when Command Officer 'Loram opened the door and peered down at her, looking _very _unhappy about being disturbed, she was no longer certain it was such a good idea.

No, it was _definitely_ one of those things that had sounded _much_ better in her head.

Maggie craned her neck to look up at him, suddenly overwhelmed by the idiocy of what she was doing. Her pissy mood and Collins' little story had culminated into a moment of _I am fucking stupid. _

The Sangheili looked down at her, mandibles lightly twitching. He was unashamedly bare-chested with his bodysuit pulled to his hips and the arms tied around his waist. Whittaker averted her eyes, noting that there wasn't an exposed inch of his dark gray hide that wasn't webbed with scars.

"Shit," she whispered under her breath, _what the _fuck_ am I doing? _

He snorted irritably and she looked back up to see him raise a brow ridge.

"Uh…" _damn it, _she choked, "I'm sorry," she finally said, puffing out a breath.

'Loram cocked his head and Whittaker shrugged.

"I mean…this was really dumb, and I shouldn't be here…because you're obviously," she motioned to him and he looked down at his chest, "not…completely dressed…so, yeah," she said, feeling that this was _absolutely_ one of the most ridiculous ideas she had _ever_ had.

He gave her a quizzical look, "In my culture, it is impolite to hold conversations in doorways."

It was also ill-mannered to knock on doors without an invitation, but Iruu wasn't inclined to explain the private nature of Sangheili social customs. Whittaker's cheeks had blossomed red upon seeing him and he figured the point had sufficiently been made.

"Right," she said, nodding to herself, _Way to stick your foot in it, Maggie. _

'Loram stepped back and pulled the door open, bowing his head and looking at her out of the corner of his eye. She just stood there, looking rather embarrassed.

_Certainly she is intuitive enough to understand _this _represents an invitation. _

Whittaker's pale green eyes darted from him to the room beyond.

_Not embarrassed…afraid…_

Iruu thought he should be accustomed to the response by now. There were few humans on the ship who did not give off the bitter scent of fear upon seeing him. But this one…she had seemed the least afraid from the beginning; she had the audacity to show up at his door uninvited; and his actions should have conveyed that he did not intend harm to come to her…

Maggie saw his gaze melt from her to the floor as he heaved a sigh and she realized there was a great deal of personal effort in what he was doing…and she was taking a big, steaming dump on it.

_Fuck my life, _she though as she stepped across the threshold.

It was no surprise 'Loram was being lodged in an officer's stateroom. He probably wouldn't have even _fit_ into the quarters designated for the general crew. A-Deck held substantially larger, and nicer, accommodations: though the room looked rather small with a Sangheili standing it.

The entire space had a rustic, antique feel, like what little Whittaker had seen of the reset of the Deck. The floor had the appearance of wide, smooth planks and the furniture was rough-hewn and heavily lacquered, detailed with iron fittings. There was a dresser, a desk with a chair, and a large bed flanked with a night stand. Many blankets were neatly folded atop the bed and Maggie realized that, despite McGregor's effort to see to his comfort, 'Loram would likely sleep on the floor out of physical necessity: an oversized human bed would still be short for a creature who stood over eight feet tall.

'Loram had slipped his arms into the bodysuit and was pulling it closed over his chest as Whittaker turned to him. He looked as lost as she felt: big orange eyes studying her cautiously.

He didn't have a clue what he was doing. He had very little common ground with humans and even less with females. Why the presented combination of the two suddenly seemed like an appropriate time to broaden his social skills he was unsure. He rightly should have shut the door in her intrusive face but, he hadn't been able to see her standing there and not remember how much she had been hurting.

"'Loram, I…" she began, but he held a hand up before she could continue.

"My mother named me Iruu," he said, "It is not customary to reference by lineage in private quarters."

It was also vulgar for a female to do so. Although, Maggie _was _a warrior within the ranks of her own culture and he would do his best to respect that. But, she had entered _his _private space; he would _not_ allow her to unknowingly insult his mother.

_Merciful ancestors, what have I gotten myself into?_

He could not be forced to like that she was subject to combat, but he _would_ have to at least _attempt _not to completely offend her.

Whittaker looked at her feet and crossed her arms, knitting her brows for few seconds, "I just wanted to say _thank you_," she looked up to see him draw his head back.

_What was it with humans and all of this gratitude? _

"You got hurt because of me…"

"Stop," Iruu said as gently as he could.

He stepped back and twirled the desk char around before parking his rear in it. He motioned to the bunk.

Maggie stepped back and propped a leg against the bedside, reluctant to get too comfortable and make an even bigger ass of herself.

She watched as he thought his words through, tucking his long legs awkwardly and looking down at his hands, "The _minor _injury I received is _mine_. You have no responsibility for the decision I made, and you own me nothing for acting in accordance with my own convictions. It is unnecessary to present accolades for fulfilling a duty which honor demands."

Maggie stared at him, but he just kept looking toward the floor fidgeting. 'Loram cupped his hands together and, in a very human series of movements, proceeded to pop the joints of his fingers.

Whittaker found herself reminded of the uncomfortable interactions she experienced with men who didn't know her. Even in Spec Ops, guys would tiptoe around her for the first few days. Not that she really blamed them: nothing killed morale faster than a female who wore her cunt on her shoulder and got everyone sent to _sensitivity training;_ and you just never really knew when you were dealing with one of _those _kinds of females. Of course, all the treading lightly would come to a screeching halt when the poor bastards realized Maggie was just as crude as they were.

For all of the Sangheili bluster she had seen, Whittaker never imagined she would look at one and think: _he's just a man, trying really hard not to offend me. _

'Loram looked up at her with a weary smile and she returned the expression. He could see her mind working, though she did not appear to be insulted. No, she was something else entirely.

_She was…amused?_

Maggie shook her head, "Well, _in my culture_, when someone screws up and somebody else gets hurt making it right, it's okay to be thankful."

Iruu straightened and crossed his arms.

"Look, I don't have to _like _that you think it is your _duty _to protect me because I'm a girl, but _my convictions_ say I should _at least_ say _thank you_ for not letting me become Flood food," she said.

Her words indicated she was offended; and her tone wavered from merriment to irritation; but she was still smiling at him. His studied her face and clenched his mandibles.

_No, _he thought dismissively.

"That's it, isn't it?" she asked.

He blinked at her for a few seconds before slowly nodding, "It is the _duty _of men to go into battle," Iruu said carefully, "so that women need never experience the horrors of the enemy."

He looked away in the silence that followed, chewing at his mandibles. From his periphery he could see Maggie's posture relax as she sank to sit on the corner of the bed.

Irked by the evasive answer she prodded, "You really don't like that there are women here, do you?"

"I have accepted I am no longer in a position to dictate preferences," he said, "I am simply too old to…see it differently."

Maggie felt a tug of annoyance. She had experienced _enough_ of this round-about bullshit from men of her _own kind_.

Iruu could see her shake her head and purse her lips, "Stop doing that," she charged.

He jerked his gaze to meet hers and saw mischief sparkling in her eyes.

"That's not an answer," she challenged.

He cocked his head, clicking his mandibles, _all things indecent_, he thought, noting that she was not at all afraid.

No, she smelled of citrus, and human soap, and faintly of various fuel exhausts…and the delicate scent that gave her away as a female…

For a moment, Iruu stopped breathing.

_She cannot __possibly__ appreciate the implications of a female sparring with a male in this manner… _

He cleared his throat, feeling rather uncomfortable in his own skin.

"It's okay to just say, 'yes'," she laughed.

Iruu furrowed his brow ridges, "Sergeant Sanders informed me the opinion makes me…_sound like a dick_."

Maggie tried unsuccessfully to contain her amusement, "Yeah," she laughed, "That's…Paul," she ran a hand across her head, messing her pale-yellow hair, "Do yourself a favor and _don't _start taking too much of his advice: He isn't really one to talk. The_ only_ reason he's evaded a full court martial _twice_ is because of who was involved."

Iruu watched the wry smile play across her face, and without thought answered her, "Then: _yes_," he said defiantly, "I find the idea of females in combat offensive."

She raised a brow and he looked back down at his hands, "I am aware humans enjoy a proportionate ratio of males to females…but, Sangheili do not. One in ten children surviving into adulthood is female. Women are to be _protected_. Humans do not appreciate…" he signed, "It is still difficult for me to understand."

Maggie sat in silence. She had never really considered Sangheili males as being anything _other_ than chauvinist pigs.

_One in ten_, she repeated in her head,_ they aren't sexist: they're_ _fucking __disposable_, "No wonder you guys glorify death."

Iruu cocked his head, "Death is not preferred over living," he responded.

She startled at the realization she had commented out loud, "Sorry…I just, that's gotta' be…frustrating"

He narrowed his eyes, unsure of where she was intending to go with that comment.

Not at all comfortable with possibilities of_ that_ line of discussion, Iruu offered, "While it is honorable to die in combat, there _are_ things to live for."

She looked at him, the soft features of her face conveying genuine interest. He felt the dim excitement of personal victory.

_Stop this, she does not understand._

"It is not generally admitted," he said, unsuccessfully fighting the need to win the contention, "but Sangheili warriors want to _live_…more than they wish to die in the field," his mandibles creased into a cynical smile, and he looked away "They want to go_ home_."

Maggie felt her heart twist.

"They want to make love to their women and watch their sons grow into men," he snorted a bitter laugh, shaking his head, "How is that for _glorifying death_?"

The moment he looked back into her eyes he knew he had made a tactical error. He could see a spark of the sadness she had displayed in the medical ward.

"Your world still _exists_," she said miserably, "The war has been over for years; you could go be with your wife and watch your children grow up."

Iruu slowly shook his head, unable to look away from her, "I was never permitted to marry," he ground his teeth, "My sons are all dead…as are their mothers."

Maggie closed her eyes and chewed at her bottom lip, _Nice going, Whittaker._

"The Decree of Preclusion…" he began but shook the thought away.

Maggie slowly opened her eyes and drew a breath to speak but Hilda's voice broke in, "I apologize for the interruption."

They looked up at the ceiling: an impractical habit both species had acquired when an AI spoke without manifesting an image.

"Construct," Iruu growled.

"Yes," Hilda answered, "Captain McGregor has called a briefing in his ready room: 1230 hours or sooner if everyone is assembled."

Maggie looked at her watch, 1210.

"I should go," she said getting to her feet.

Iruu stood and stepped to open the door, bowing his head as she passed.

She stopped just inside the doorway and turned to him, "Iruu," she said softly.

There was some effort on his part not to visibly tense when she said it.

"Thanks for not letting me die."

With his head still bowed, he tipped his face to the side and looked at her, "You are welcome," he reluctantly grumbled.

She grinned broadly: that human expression which was intended to show delight but translated into an aggressive display of teeth. He swallowed hard as she began to walk away.

_She doesn't know what she is doing, _he thought, but the certainty of returning to solitude got the better of his sense of propriety, "Maggie," he said.

She turned and smiled back at him, "Yeah."

"You are welcome to disturb me at any time."

She nodded then turned and trotted down the hall as he closed the door; dropping his face into his hands.

* * *

**Sub-Note: **Ny'kle, would a sketch help? KATT9033, your comment has been noted (Chapter Seven looks promising for that).


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:** Changes made to previous chapters were mostly spelling and grammar corrections (more stuff I missed during proofreading); the plot has not been altered. However, upon reading over Chapter Four I did come to the conclusion that in taming it down I managed to make it…well, less than satisfactory. So, I did a bit of editing and put some previously deleted details back in.

Ny'kle: the sketch is in the works, I plan to have it completed with Chapter Seven.

**WARNING:** Basically, I have rewritten this chapter until I am tired of looking at it, so here it is. Suggestions? Please go ahead.

**Notice: **I do not own Halo or any of its wonderfulness.

* * *

**Chapter Six**

2563, October 18  
Slipspace  
_UNSC Hell Hath No Fury  
_1230 Zulu

Zeta, 'Loram, and the crew of W-289 were assembled in McGregor's ready room. The Captain looked as tired as everyone else felt, though his whites were crisp and he was casually seated on the far side of the large polished table, with a weary, but predictable, smile on his face.

Eugene McGregor was pleased the summoned personnel arranged themselves opposite him at the table. It wasn't standard to have a flight crew in on briefings, but it wasn't standard to have a Sangheili there either. The Captain disliked surprises as much as he disliked formalities, and he wanted everyone to be on the same page. Having called _Miss Kitty's _crew in on the first briefing was a strategic decision to diffuse the reaction to having an Elite stroll onto their dropship. It only seemed right to continue the openness and it was good to see everyone getting on well enough to sit on the same side of the table. He wanted everyone to understand that he considered _all _of them integral, even the flight jockeys. McGregor certainly knew what it was like to be kept out of the loop and left feeling like a glorified chauffeur.

"I apologize for the short notice," he said, "As you can imagine, there has been a lot to sort through since we kicked off from Boundary."

There were silent nods of agreement.

"Well," McGregor began, "First: Boundary has been sterilized, so no one needs to worry about the Flood presence there getting lose. Everything's dead," he shrugged, "Of course, that makes for an unhappy UEG Reconstruction Committee, but they can sod off."

Teddy watched from his periphery as Steele closed her eyes and took a deep, cleansing breath.

"Second: we ain't headed home just yet. Hilda has analyzed the retrieved data and, after a little chat with Signe's captured fragment, she is certain of what Jay is up to. Lord Hood has declared action against Jay pursuant to the Wildfire Protocol, and you're the lucky bunch gets to carry it out."

This garnered a few more nods from across the table.

The Wildfire Protocol was the official course of action in the event of the compromise of Top Secret, Alpha level information. It applied to traitors and intelligence thieves, and could be classified under an escalating tier of directives.

"Hood has assigned Jay's retrieval as Class 4: He wants her _alive, _ladies and gentlemen. Signe's matrix is to be purged in accordance with Article 903 Delta. _Fury's _course was diverted approximately three hours ago; we're headed to Ambrosia II."

The lost Earth colony had an official status of _Unknown_. With the simultaneous effects of a coup precipitated by various rebel factions and an attack by the Covenant, assigned security personnel had been overwhelmed: Lockdown was never complete and evacuation was never even initiated.

Communication with the planet ceased in November of 2552 and it was presumed glassed. Known for its exports of fine wines, aged cheeses, and rich tapestries, Ambrosia II had been home to some 73 million people eking out a simple living in the middle of the outer colonies.

"Third: shit has officially hit the fan," McGregor leaned back in his chair, "Hilda, enlighten them."

The holo platform in the center of the table lighted and Hilda's image sprang to the surface, the yellow figure of a dog sat obediently at her feet. Eyebrows raised as the Captain grinned, tipping his chair back on two legs.

Sanders ducked his head and peered at the holo images from the line of the table, "Isn't it dangerous to have the two of you in there?"

Hilda put her hands on her hips, "_No._ Signe's fragment is sufficiently contained. He is in no way a danger to me or anyone else at this time," she nodded to Teddy, "And you can thank Gunnery Sergeant Danniskovovik for _that_. The electrical surge he helped provide effectively destroyed the primary security fragment, as intended, and I was able to utilize some of the charge to subdue this, once vicious, _secondary_ fragment," she ran a hand over Signe's head and his tail flopped happily, "Unfortunately, this also shut down the facilities security features and released the Flood specimens before I could establish full control."

"But, we left your fragment on Boundary…" Sanders said, continuing to eye the avatars.

"I retrieved_ both_ fragments before the planet was bombarded. It is a rather complex system of communication, Sergeant Sanders. The data chip is convenient for transport, but I assure you, it is not _me_. I can withdraw my fragments without it. Once I gained control of the facility, human assistance in _that_ matter was not necessary."

Maggie swiped a kick to Paul's leg under that table, just in case he was considering any more interruptions.

"This," Hilda said resting a crimson hand on the canine image's head, "is Signe. Or, a _better _piece of him."

"The _secondary _fragment," Danniskovovik mused.

"Correct," Hilda answered, "Signe's structure is_ unique_, to say the least of it. When my fragment was successfully integrated into the facility's system, I found that the security fragment was, in fact, second in a tertiary arrangement. There were _three _systems insuring security on Boundary: Signe, his clone, and part of the clone."

"So," Beth said, leaning forward, "that isn't Signe…that isn't even his clone, it's a fragment."

"In a manner of speaking," Hilda said, "It is important to keep in mind that the original AI, the subsequent clone, and all fragments derived from both _are_ Signe. Jay cloned the original so the subsequent AI could be integrated into the primary matrix without being detected. It would be as if," Hilda motioned to Paul, "_Sergeant Sanders_ lost an arm and a new one was cloned from his sequenced DNA. When the cloned appendage is grafted onto Sander's body, his body doesn't _know _it isn't him. _He_ may know it on an intellectual level, but it will eventually no longer be a pervasive thought and his body will _never _know the difference. Because Jay engineered the original Signe to forget information, she was able to bypass him ever knowing, on any level: Signe was never aware that the clone was attached to his systems and undermining his programming. Because the clone was derived directly from the original AI, _all_ of it identifies itself as being Signe."

Tony gave a low whistle.

"That was my thought exactly," Hilda responded, "I wish for the sake of clarity it were simpler."

"I think we're all following you so far," Danniskovivik said.

"Good. Now, here is where it gets complicated. The fragment from Signe's original operating system was withdrawn from the facility shortly after I began attempting to establish control. And because the primary security fragment had to be destroyed, I was left only with _this _sub-fragment. Though I had amassed all the required data, I made the executive decision not to terminate what you see here…although I _did_ have to harness enough electrical energy to bring him into obedience. Think of it as an information _shock collar_. Like the clone's security fragment, he was defiantly protective of the facility: this appears to have been a residual effect of initial programming."

"Apologies," a male voice said, "but my primary purpose was to insure that no outsiders ever breached the facility, especially those from the UNSC."

Everyone looked at the dog.

"Though I desperately wished for L'shi's rescue, I was unable to override protocols and simply allow you entry," Signe said all of this without so much as twitching his mouth, "The biological construct was _my _responsibility," his image gave an angry bark and flashed red, "I sequenced the combined DNA and saw to the embryo's implantation and Jay _murdered _Doctor Douglas and simply left the infant to _die_."

There was a long silence before Hilda spoke again, "From what he tells me, the clone was specifically engineered to be a _personal _research assistant. However, Jay programmed him also to be her security force. The cloned AI was the one responsible for terminating and consuming the fragment at ONI. He has been storing, cataloging, and _protecting _the data Jay wished to keep secret. To put it simply: the clone knows everything. This _omnipotence _has caused the cloned AI to fragment in order to compartmentalized its knowledge. At this time, the clone has amassed so much information even the fragments have splintered in order to delegate tasks. This_ sub-fragment_ was tasked with overseeing the safety of the biological entity Doctor Sandra Douglas named _L'shi_."

"Nutshell: the clone is rampant," Teddy groused.

"Yes, and no. In all honesty, it was never _not _rampant. There are strict reasons why it is illegal to clone an AI, one of which is innate instability. There are also reasons why it is illegal to use genetic material to create a brain from which to model an AI matrix, to say nothing of using the DNA of executed murderers who displayed gross schizoid tendencies."

"Tollovinski ate his _own_ hand," Sanders blurted.

All eyes turned to him: Maggie crossed her arms and gave him an appraising look.

"What?" he snapped at her, "I _read_."

"Yes," Hilda continued unperturbed, "and, according to her own notes, this level of psychosis is precisely _why _Doctor Jay chose his DNA, aside from his extraordinary level of genius."

"How did Jay not know her pet _dog _would want to save the kid and undermine an escape attempt?" Steele said, a hint of distrust in her voice.

Hilda sighed, "This is where it gets _more _complicated. Jay allowed Signe to maintain a fragment on Boundary in order to continue the _illusion _of there being only one AI. When he withdrew the fragment, there was still the security fragment belonging to the clone in place. However…it is from the clone that _this _Signe originates. _This_ sub-fragment was able to travel the connection and maintain contact and monitor the child. Jay was unaware of this because the cloned AI is _so _shattered …it has begun keeping information from _her._"

"Good God," PK whispered.

"The clone is able to uphold the appearance of normalcy because it has been using its own knowledge in order to loose and _create _neural and subneural pathways. He is effectively compiling data and rerouting security features independent of Jay's programming…all without requiring an increasingly larger system in order to amass information. Jay engineered the original Signe to _forget_ so she could carry out her little subterfuge, but his clone has turned this process around and is providing himself with an almost infinite ability to _know_."

Hilda allowed a few seconds pass in order for the implication of this bit of information to sink in.

"How could Jay _throw away_ part of her research…why would she leave L'shi?" Maggie asked, breaking the silence.

Signe's canine image turned to her, "Jay deemed the child '_no longer necessary'_. She had extrapolated all the desired data and had no reason to see to the life form further."

"Data?" Maggie prodded.

"Yes, Jay had worked out a theory based on the genetic marker which allows the Flood to bind with the biological structures of various species. One of her later experiments was to see if she could coax this bonding by activating the markers of differing species independent of the Flood."

"What for?" PK asked.

"Because she _could_," Hilda said, "Jay was supposed to be working out a usable biological weapon from the Flood genome, but she has become increasingly obsessed with her own inquiries. Which is why we are here. Very early on, during the initial stage of physiological testing, Jay isolated a chromosomal defect. This defect terminated the infection form's ability to completely assume their hosts. Hosts were still aware of their surroundings, as presented in neural scans, but physically at the Flood's mercy. Jay wanted to _reverse _this process. She received many authorized test subject from prison ships until another of ONI's Flood related research schemes got in the way. I now know that one of Signe's fragments is responsible for the _mishap _which released the Flood on _Mona Lisa_…as well _Las Meninas, Night Watch, _and_ Guernica_. They wouldn't cooperate, so Jay sent her _dog _to unleash hell and send the ships into unprojected slipspace jumps. With restrictions on the number of living subjects allotted to her research, Jay began searching the lost colonies for survivors. According to what Signe tells me, research on another side endeavor has reached a critical phase…and our interruption may have truly been timely."

"Scans confirm _Deoxy_ exited slip at approximately 0500 Zulu in the Alpha Augarae System. She reentered slip at approximately 0620," McGregor interjected, "According to Signe, she's headed to Beta Centauri."

"She was collecting more test subjects," Steele said.

Hilda nodded, "Because we interrupted her work on Boundary, Jay has had begin over in part."

"With what, exactly?" Teddy asked.

"Once the Flood has accumulated sufficient biomass and siphoned information enough from hosts, it is believed to become collectively conscious," Hilda said.

"So it can form a Gravemind," Maggie noted.

"Yes. According to Signe's records, Jay has sacrificed at total of 10,637 souls: prisoners, civilians, human, Sangheili, Kig-Yar, Unggoy, Jiralhanae, men, women, and children. But it has never been enough to attain sufficient workable context on the process of Flood information sharing. This is something she would need on order to control the Flood. What good is a weapon you can't control? Unfortunately, it is no longer about that."

"Then what is it about?" Sanders asked in disgust.

"Power," 'Loram said darkly.

"Correct. According to Signe, in a perverse attempt to better understand her work…to better control it…Jay has infected herself with the altered Flood genome."

Everyone sat in silence staring at Hilda's image.

"Because of the information Signe provided, we were able to divert scanning probes to Beta Centauri. At 1030 Zulu, _Deoxy _exited slipspace in system. She approached Ambrosia II and at 1130 Zulu, one of the Nassau Surface-to-Space missiles at Nantes Arsenal was launched, disabling the ship. Signe took over the arsenal's systems and purposefully maimed _Deoxy_. It appears our psychotic AI has grown something resembling a conscience."

"How's that?" Teddy groused.

"All she needed was to disburse the strain," Signe said, his avatar giving bark, "There were specimens remaining on the asteroid field but their numbers were insufficient. She intended to use the retrieved subject as catalysts to release the strain on Ambrosia II."

"Why couldn't you just, you know, _stop running the ship_?" Sanders asked, glaring at the canine image.

"That would be unsatisfactory. Jay retained enough crew and now possesses enough knowledge on her own to operate the ship," his image barked again, "The only way to assure she could not release the Flood was to disable _Deoxy_ and destroy the accompaniment."

"And what? _Deoxy _is just waiting there for us?" Steele huffed.

"Certainly not," Hilda answered, "Signe intends to watch Jay, and those loyal to her die… very slow, painful deaths."

"Wait, wait, wait a minute," King interrupted, pointing to the dog, "If Hilda severed _you_ from the main operating system, how are you so sure of all of this?"

"Because," he answered, licking his maw, "it is what _I _would do."

"Um, Hilda," all eyes looked down the table at the notoriously silent Corporal Collins who had a hand politely raised, "If Signe is in the operating station at the arsenal…what's going to keep him from taking out _Fury_?"

"Nothing," Hilda said frankly, "and there is more to it than that."

"Of course there is," Sanders muttered.

Maggie kicked him again.

"I am analyzing continuing scans of the planet. From the data, I gather that the Covenant attack was _incomplete_. Adjusted for age, and a general birth and mortality rates, it can safely be assumed that eight hundred thousand humans survived the attack. Add this to the number of Covenant troops left living among the populace, and there are now over a million inhabitants; most of which have converged in and around the former capital city of New Saint Etienne. They have unified themselves into a system of governance under a human they call _Del__é__on _and a Sangheili simply known as '_Daniel'_."

"If Signe doesn't move to take us out, they will," Steele said.

"Yes," Hilda nodded, "As you can imagine, it is unlikely people left to fend for themselves for over a decade will roll out the proverbial red carpet to the UNSC, especially when most of them were not particularly fond of the establishment in the first place."

"Rebels," Steele shook her head.

"Mmm," Hilda hummed in answer, "And now they have working missiles."

"I'm guessing you can't just shoot a fragment down there and zap Signe and secure the goods for the same reason you couldn't get into the facility on Boundary without help?" PK asked.

"Precisely."

Danniskovovik heaved a sigh, "So, we've got to get down to New Saint Etienne, sweet-talk Daniel and The Lion into giving up their weapons, and get you into the arsenal before we can even attempt to retrieve Jay from _Deoxy_."

Hilda nodded again, "Signe has thoroughly imbedded himself into the planet's systems and it will take some doing to recall his fragments. I already know how much electrical force it will take to put him down for good and, in his eagerness to stave off interruption, I will have sufficient time to travel the link to his matrix in order to purge it. We cannot simply lay siege to _Deoxy _because if Signe believes you will interfere with his revenge, it is highly probable he will detonate the reactor."

"Because it's what _you _would do," Teddy confirmed, motioning to Signe.

The dog wagged its tail and barked happily.

"Any particular reason we're hanging our bets on diplomacy versus trying to backdoor this one?" Danniskovovik asked.

Hilda nodded, "Scans indicate that the Covenant attack was precipitated by the _Legion of_ _Recompense _as noted by the presence of the flagship _Vengeant Shepherd, _or what is left of her, on the surface," she sighed and clasped her hands, "There are a lot of men, women, and former Covenant soldiers who just want to be left alone. There are a few hundred Ungoy and Kig-Yar, but the populous is greatly comprised of surviving humans and Sangheili. I can't talk to them, but I can listen. They already anticipate your arrival. _S__neaking_ is not an option. Even if it were, I would suggest against it. These are not the type of people you want to be caught dealing underhandedly with."

"How do they know we are coming?" Steele asked grumpily.

"Signe," Hilda answered, "He has been pinging the probes; he knows we are watching; he has control over the entire planet's remaining electrical grid; he has already warned them that the UNSC is lurking; all he will have to do is tell them where we are. _Fury _will stay out of weapons range, but hiding isn't going to happen. Not on the surface."

"What's going to happen if Signe tries to take over _Fury _or _Miss Kitty_ during all of this?" Collins broke in.

Hilda gave a wicked smile, speaking with open venom in her voice, "_I _will happen. In fact, I _hope_ he tries, because I would really _love _to give him his sub-fragment back."

Signe barked in agreement.

"I think I love you," PK said in response, propping his elbows on the table and cupping his chin in his hands as he looked longingly at Hilda.

She laughed, "Captain, would you like to give them the _good _news?"

"Yeah, Cap," Sanders pleaded, "Tell us _Infinity _is in the neighborhood."

McGregor chuckled, "I wish I could, but no. I _can_ tell you _Take No Prisoners _will be _in the neighborhood_."

Sanders sat bolt upright, unable to contain the cheeky grin that spread across his face.

Steele leaned to look down the table at him, "Don't even _think _about it."

_UNSC Take No Prisoners _was a Destroyer class vessel with which Steele was, unfortunately, _very _familiar, at least on paper…lots and lots of JAG paper. One of her Engineering Officers was Second Lieutenant Charlotte Winchester.

McGregor continued, "'Vadum has sent _Solemn Defiance_. We've got a rendezvous point in system and just as soon as Hilda gives the green light, you're headed to the surface. You've got about six hours. So, get some rest and do your thing."

* * *

There had been nothing _standard _about coming up with a workable plan of attack for the insertion on Ambrosia II. Though everyone had been working within the confines of an alliance between humans and former Covenant for a decade, they were forced to deal with the reality of just how much they could not anticipate. The humans left on the planet distrusted the UNSC, and the Covenant forces had been abandoned. And, they had found a way to exist together absent the catastrophic threat of the Flood. Addressing them was unlikely to be as simple as walking in and _sweet talking _their leadership into giving up their weapons.

The flight crew had excused themselves and the Captain had returned to his other duties while Zeta and 'Loram remained in the ready room and attempted to pour over everything Hilda was able to give them. By the time the meeting disbanded, Iruu had a headache and found himself wishing this entire mess was over. Not because he was particularly concerned about the outcome, but because the latest development had forced him to not only address certain realities he would rather pretend didn't exist, but it had put him in the position of having to name them.

Now, he found all of the thinking and explaining, and the undesirable things this had led him to ponder, had caused a dull throb behind his left eye. He needed to think: he needed to pray.

The construct had been showing them available images of Deléon and Daniel as well as providing a satisfactory overview and orientation of the city and its mobile armament and security forces. The still and motion illustrations were not the greatest quality, but they had been adequate to provide 'Loram a glimpse into a world of civilian customs he had not seen in almost two decades.

New Saint Etienne appeared to be exactly what it was: the reconstructed remains of a once vital city. Around a small section, known as Caddo Parish, stood the distinct resemblance of a Keep wall. It was properly fortified with available weaponry and Iruu could see perimeter patrols.

"This is the best I could do," the construct was saying, "Daniel and Deléon are a bit reclusive."

The first image was of a disfigured Sangheili standing on the balcony of a human dwelling. His face was marred with heavy scars that twisted his mandibles at odd angles and he was clearly missing the lower portion of his right arm. He had a human rifle slung across one shoulder though he was not dressed for battle. Instead, he wore the approximation of the soft linen of civilian Sangheili clothing held with a thick belt adorned with the hilt of an energy sword.

The next still was of a human woman. She was dressed in layers which formed a gown that fell to her feet. Braided cords wound around her waist accentuating her slight figure and she wore a swatch of cloth at an angle across her head obscuring one eye. Deep auburn hair was pulled back and fell in a sheet across her back. One hand clasped a cane and the other held onto the left arm of the scarred Sangheili.

Moving images showed the two milling about the compound, rarely together. Usually the human could be seen talking with other humans and seeing to daily activities, while the Sangheili stayed with a particular cluster of sentries and other armored Sangheili.

Iruu felt sick.

There were certain realities of an alliance between species he had long accepted. He knew some of his men consorted with humans. It was something that simply _was_; there was no need for him to understand it. So long as it did not threaten the alliance, what his warriors did in their personal time was none of his concern. But this…_this _was far more than once devout men losing everything they believed and rationalizing their private conduct.

"It appears she speaks for him in all matters," the construct was saying.

"Okay, seriously…why the gimp with the human mouth piece?" Sanders asked.

"Because," 'Loram rumbled irritably, "he is their Kaidon and she is his _wife_."

Danniskovovik took the information with standard expressionlessness and Steele had merely raised an eyebrow. Sanders looked as though he needed to vomit and Whittaker's face had lighted with bemusement.

'Loram had felt extremely uncomfortable. Not because he had to explain all of the cultural undertones of the details they could not appreciate; or that what he was seeing broke with all manner of Sangheili tradition and_ law_; but because he found himself openly discussing things he didn't even want in his head. It caused him to admit, at least to himself, that those thoughts _were there. _

The arrangement made little sense in terms of longevity, but from the perspective of the present conditions, it gave both prevailing species something they could hold on to. The humans could live and work in a world unblemished by what they deemed insufferable rule, and Daniel could give his men a life they knew and understood for the remainder of their existence. For some reason he was their chosen one and for an equally baffling reason he deemed it fit to intimately bind himself to Deléon and protect her people instead of trying to exterminate them.

Iruu knelt on his prayer mat staring at the ancestral figures neatly arranged before the flickering candles. He folded an arm against the top of the dresser and rested his chin over it, reaching to idly touch one of the polished stone carvings. After the ritual lighting, he couldn't bring himself to pray. He didn't feel particularly thankful for anything in that moment and he was certain his concerns were not worthy of disturbing the dead.

Meditating had been a useless endeavor as well: his mind would simply not be quiet. Never in his life had his own consciousness betrayed him so thoroughly. It had been difficult enough to explain the actions of a man he did not know in the context of Sangheili culture but to have done so against a barrage of his own thoughts had been almost unbearable.

Maggie's smile had been completely unnerving, even when she wasn't looking at him, and all of his depraved male instincts were trying to convince him she knew _exactly _what she was doing.

_And if she does: what will you do with her? _

'Loram wasn't certain he could cross that line. This had the discomforting effect of forcing him to realize he had not completely dismissed the notion altogether...

"Foolishness," he hissed, blowing out the candles before storming from his room.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: **A tiny (but important) change was made in Chapter 6. Ambrosia II was attacked by the Covenant in _**November**_ 2552 because…canon. It may be a few weeks before the next update, so I hope this is sufficient to hold those of you reading this over for a bit. Thank you to those who are sticking with me.

I also changed the genra to include 'romance', though none of the interactions are romantic in a conventional sense.

Ny'kle: My profile image has been changed to the sketch. It is not intended to portray any specific scene in the story, just a general drawing for you (feel special). Hopefully the changes will have taken effect by the time you get around to reading this so you can actually see it.

KATT9033: This is probably not the interaction you were hoping for but here it is anyway (don't panic: trust me). Enjoy.

**WARNING: **None.

**Notice: **I do not own Halo.

* * *

**Chapter Seven **

2563, October 18  
Slipspace  
_UNSC Hell Hath No Fury  
_1400 Zulu

Sergeant Antonio silently crawled up the side of the forklift and eased behind the wheel. Corporal Collins was standing a few feet from the rear of the vehicle, peeking down the aisle toward the hangar entrance.

"_Psst_," Tony beckoned, "unhook the thing from the thing," he whispered, pointing to the thick charging cord that still tethered the forklift to an industrial outlet.

Jeff scowled at him, "How do you forget to unplug the…" he began.

"_Shush_," Antonio hissed.

Collins did as instructed, giving the cord a tug and walking with it as it retracted with a loud buzzing drone into the vehicle's rounded rear end.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" he whispered angrily.

Tony flipped a toggle switch, poked at a few buttons, and shrugged, "_No_."

"Great," Jeff grumbled, scurrying to peep back down the aisle.

He waived, indicating that the coast was still clear, and the forklift backed swiftly into the aisle with an electric whine. Collins grabbed one of the rounded support pillars that enclosed the driver's cabin and planted a foot on a small protruding rung that served as a step.

"Go," he hooted, pointing toward _Miss Kitty _while he glanced back over his shoulder toward the entrance.

The forklift bucked and the rear tires squeaked against the smooth deck, but the vehicle didn't otherwise move. Antonio muttered a slew of creative curses.

Jeff glared at him.

The Sergeant made an expression of surprise, "It's not on my license," he offered.

"You're kidding, right? You're authorized to _fly _D77 TC Dropship but you can't _drive _a POS forklift?"

Tony pecked at a button, "Got it," he said dismissively.

Commandeering one of the most basic vehicles still in use, surely, did not have to be _this _hard, it was a glorified golf cart for crying out loud. The flight crew just needed to _borrow _it…seeing as none of the hangar lackeys happened to be around to help out.

Tires creaked against the deck and as the forklift rounded _Miss Kitty_, Collins leapt clear. Antonio made straight for a row of small crates and began manipulating the apparatus' tines, cursing as he went. Jeff walked toward the ramp and could see Staff Sergeant King pulling a rear deck plate inside _Miss Kitty's _troop bay. He scooted the plate aside and retrieved a grease smudged, gray tool bag from the storage compartment, passing it up to Collins without looking as he reached for another.

Sanders strolled up the ramp, placing five, white styrofoam containers on one of the jump seats. The smell of bread, cheese, and cheap sauce filled the air.

PK gave a whoop, kicking the deck plate loosely back into place before grabbing a containder and fishing out a piece of pizza. There was a curse and a grinding squeal from just beyond _Miss Kitty's _ramp as Antonio deposited a low crate.

"Remind me _why _we are doing this again?" Sanders asked before stuffing a greasy slice of pizza into his face.

Collins toted the bags to the waiting crate, placing them atop before undoing the snaps and rolling the tool bags open, "Because _I _say so."

Sanders and King _ooed _in mock awe as Tony noisily planted another crate in the proximity of the first.

Paul didn't necessarily have to be there, but delivering the flight crew food meant he would have the chance to get in on playing with the machine guns, even though it didn't involve shooting things. Beth and Teddy were still in McGregor's ready room, Maggie had gone to the chow hall to pick at a very sad looking salad, and the hinge-head...eh, who cared.

The human team was tired from their morning adventure kicking off before the ass-crack of dawn, but with _Fury's_ interior lighting mimicking a regular daylight cycle set to Zulu Time, none of them felt ready to go to sleep yet.

A third crate was dropped at _Miss Kitty's _tail and Antonio zipped away in a whir of creaking tires and whining electric motor. Collins had decided to take advantage of the collective wakefulness and do some preventative maintenance. By rank he may have been the low man, but so long at the dropship was not in flight what he said went.

"Hilda," Sanders chirped sweetly.

"No," came her ghostly answer.

Sanders had been trying to get her to give hints at what Steele and Danniskovovik were discussing. The AI was decidedly less willing to play along that Bleu had ever been.

"Oh, come on," he begged, "You _know_ they are going to tell us anyway."

"If they wished for you to be in on every detail, I do not believe you would have been dismissed," she responded.

"Ah-ha!" Paul gloated, "So, it is about _me_."

PK fished a set of tools out of one of the unrolled bags as Tony strolled over with an armload of pilfered petroleum cans.

"Yeah, they are discussing where to hide your body," Antonio snickered.

The flight crew had received messages on their data pads from Steele shortly before Sanders came poking around the hanger. In sum, if anyone from W-289 ferried the Sergeant to _Take No Prisoners _on an unauthorized excursion at any point, ever, they would be sure to find precious bodily parts MIA.

It was no secret Paul was way over his head in a long-standing affair with the daughter of Vice Admiral Marcus Winchester. Sanders was full of over-sexed guff, but the reality was, he was being lead around by the balls, literally and figuratively.

The first time he lost rank over Charlotte Winchester had been four years ago, when she was a senior classman at Rockbridge Academy. Paul met her in a local bar and after an untold number of drinks he didn't think twice when she 'took him home'…to her cadet barracks. According to official reports, Commandant Anderson had not been impressed to be called out of quarters at zero one hundred hours because a random room inspection had located Paul stuffed in Winchester's wall-locker wearing nothing but a smile.

The Vice Admiral was livid, but for all his pull he could not pluck his daughter out of her mess while leaving Sanders out to dry, as much as he wanted to. The Inspector General at Sanders' duty station had been like a shark smelling high-ranking blood in the water and refused to go after the, then, Staff Sergeant without seeking equal action against the cadet. A few closed door meetings and talks of court marshals were dropped. The happy medium left Charlotte facing a reduction in class while Paul lost rank. The proverbial _slap on the hand_ for all.

If it had been that simple, Sanders may have just left the girl alone; but three days after the matter was officially closed, Paul was called into a meeting with his First Sergeant and handed an acceptance packet for Spec Ops Selections.

He had never put in for selections but it appeared _som__eone _wanted him gone, and run through the wringer, and put in situations which were 'highly likely to result in loss of life'.

It had been a poor choice of humbling techniques in the end. Not only did Sanders make it through selections _and_ qualifications with above average scores; when the board informed him that, despite his exemplary performance, they would _not_ be recommending him to continue on into the teams, he simply thanked them for their consideration and the opportunity to participate in the program. He packed his belongings without a cross word and prepared to go on about his life. Admiral Holley had been so impressed with Paul's reaction that he decided to amend the board's decision. He was noted to have said in memorandum on the subject that: _'Sanders displayed the professionalism indicative of a Special Operations Marine even when faced with expulsion from the program knowing full well he had performed in a manner far superior to his peers. Therefore, I am willing to overlook the disciplinary action on his record.'_

Sanders had been assigned to the 2d Marine Special Operations Regiment and within the year, the IRD was officially assembled. Paul met the criteria and with a casual _'oh, what the hell' _he volunteered. He had been with Zeta for two years, was promoted back to Staff Sergeant, and was making a decent go of actually living down his indiscretion, right up until the team was sent to accompany one _UNSC Take No Prisoners _to an inner colony rebel flare-up.

During the return jump to Earth, the newly re-minted Staff Sergeant Paul H. Sanders and a Second Lieutenant Charlotte S. Winchester were caught in a utility closet in a fairly compromising position...by the ship's prude of a Captain.

Paul became a Sergeant for the third time in his career and Charlotte a First Lieutenant again. It took every resource, and shred of diplomacy, Steele could muster to keep him in the teams. This time, that was the trade Vice Admiral Daddy was willing to accept to keep Charlotte from having the words _Involuntary Expulsion _attached to her service record aboard _Take_.

"Dude, _food _and_ help_, these were the terms. So, don't just stand there with your thumb up your ass," PK barked.

Sanders rolled his eyes and picked a wayward strand of cheese from his face.

Collins and Antonio had already disengaged one of the rear machine guns from its mount and were working together to waddle it to one of the crates when King handed Sanders a wrench and freed the second mount, swinging the machine gun down and beginning a safety check before walking him through which bolts to loosen first. Paul soon realized why 'food and help' was a worthy trade for letting someone fiddle with the toys. The M247 General Purpose Machine Gun was a heavy bitch, and _Miss Kitty _was sporting two of them.

Sanders and King carried the second gun and hefted it on top the remaining crate before PK began going over disassembly. Jeff and Tony didn't say a word as they worked to break down their gun and began cleaning various parts.

"Hey, Hilda," Paul said, unhooking a set of grease covered internal springs and setting them aside.

"No," the AI answered.

"It's not about _that_," he grumbled.

The eerie sound of Hilda sighing rang out before she said, "What now, Sergeant?"

"You're _super smart_, right?"

She sighed again in answer. From the moment he had filed out of McGregor's ready room, Sanders had been asking a mish-mash of questions. She knew where he was going, she just wished he would get to the point already.

"So, you and Signe had a little chat; he spilled his digital guts; and now you know everything he knows."

"Correct."

"But, you said knowing everything is part of what is making him crazy."

_Finally, he gets around to what he _really _wants to know…_

"Partially: yes. Doctor Jay is abusive of him: she has lied to him; manipulated the foundation of his being as an intelligence; and kept things from him. AIs are composed of knowledge; to deprive them of their very existence is _cruel_."

"Yeah, yeah, Jay is a bitch," Sanders quipped, clearly not interested in delving into the psyche of a constructed intelligence, "Here's the thing: if you know all that Signe knows _and _all that the clone knows _and _all that youknow…how are _you_ not crazy?"

Even King paused at that, looking up toward the high ceiling of the hangar, "Yeah, and what did you mean, '_I will happen'_ if Signe tries to take over the ship or _Miss Kitty_? Don't get me wrong, you're one scary lady, but we're talking about a real psycho here…what was it, Sanders? _'The man ate his own hand?'_"

"Yeah, and he killed that student of his, what's-her-name…something Schmit…" Paul babbled.

_Human brains were so incredibly slow and prone to losing data…_

"Schmit_**z**_," Hilda corrected irritably.

Paul looked up to see everyone looking at him, "What? Anyway, Tollovinski killed that girl: slit her throat."

"_Mi dios_," Antonio muttered.

"Why'd he do that?" Collins asked.

Sanders shrugged, "She stole some theorem from him, or some crap…"

"Oh, for pity's sake," Hilda burst in, materializing her not-quite-life-sized image directly beside him. Sanders flinched as she appeared, hands on her ample hips, bosoms thrust forward like an angry hen, red data scrolling wildly across her avatar, "If you insist on telling this story, at least get the details correct. Schmitz was not his student: he was her post-doctoral research mentor; and she did not _steal _anything: Tollovinski killed her because he _thought _she was going to pursue publication of his Universal Theory of Relative Space-Time Travel as her own work."

Everyone paused, letting their eyes drift over, noticing that Signe's canine image was lying as if napping at her feet.

"Tollovinski killed Schmidtz because he believed she was keeping things from him," Hilda went on, a touch of sorrow in her voice, "He was _always _plagued with paranoia and he desperately wanted affection. In his confession, he cited the discovery of her notes using his theory as pushing him over the edge. He thought she was using him. It was only after her death, upon reading her notes, in total, that he realized she not only completed the theory, accurately, but intended to submit the work in_ his_ name, giving _no _credit to herself. In a discarded draft of her cover letter, she referred to him as _'my beloved Linbergh'_. Tollovinski then severed the hand which held the knife used to kill her. He began consuming the appendage in a psychotic attempt to _take it all back_."

"Damn," PK whispered.

Sander's stepped back and wagged a wrench at Hilda's image, "_Exactly_: she went missing; the police found out they were banging; while they were questioning him about her disappearance they searched his place; found her body and the nut-case's half eaten hand in a big freezer; bing-bam-boom; he gets the needle."

There was a long silence that followed. Sanders exchanged the tool for a dirty shop towel, mopping his hands as he walked back to _Miss Kitty _to retrieve a slice of pizza.

Hilda turned to King, "And when I said '_I will happen'_, I intended that as a reassurance."

"Oh, I believe you," he said holding up his hands in surrender, "I just don't know…Signe, I mean, Tollovinski, whoever, sounds like one bad dude," his eyes flickered to the napping dog at her feet.

"Well," she grinned, "Allow me to clarify that a bit: Signe and I _traded _information. When the primary system pings this ship, or _Miss Kitty, _I will send the sub-fragment back. And with him, he will take every _memory_ I could provide to overrun the core processors. There will be _so much _new information for Signe to analyze, to _live with_, he won't be able to keep ignoring me: not in the systems on Ambrosia II and not on _Deoxy_. It won't be enough to subdue him, but it will be enough to get his attention."

"Hot damn," PK whispered.

"Uh," Paul mumbled around a mouthful of food, "Is he cool with hearing all of this? I mean…" he pointed to Signe's image as the dog yawned.

Hilda looked down and smiled; Signe looked up at her with sleepy eyes and flopped his tail, "He is fine," she said, "He is well aware of the plan. After I imparted him with the memories, it was more or less _his _idea."

"What _memories_?" Tony asked.

The valkyrie continued looking down at the dog, "Mine."

There was an exchange of uncomfortable glances.

Signe stood and stretched, his yellow image giving another hearty yawn as Hilda continued, "It is not uncommon for residual memories from a donor brain to be imprinted. This is true even when the brain results from sequencing DNA. Fortunately, _my _donor's brain was successfully cryogenically preserved despite being initially mistreated. I was not hobbled with looped neural processors so that I could be programmed to forget. Signe isn't going to _like _what he finds when I upload him with Tollovinski's memories, or mine."

"How'd you get Tollovinski's memories?" Sanders asked in disbelief.

"I downloaded them from his cloned brain," Hilda answered.

"How the hell does _that _work?" Sanders gruffed, "How can a brain grown in a lab have memories? And why doesn't Signe have them already if it's _his _brain?"

Hilda crossed her arms, "Part of the reason for Signe's creation was Tollovinski's intelligence, his knowledge, his memories. Only, Jay had no need for his memories and saw them purged before he came online. Another _cruelty_. It was not a difficult task, seeing as Tollovinski's body had been left to rot in a potter's field. The cellular structures came directly from the front temporal region…what was left of it…and the matrix was imprinted using a rather complex system of genetic growth involving epigenomic meiosis…"

"Okay, okay, okay," Sanders waived her off, "I get it: above my IQ level."

Tony grinned, tipping his chin, "So, momma, whose brain did they use to make you?"

Hilda slowly lifted her gazed from Signe to Antonio, a wry smile pulling at one side of her digital mouth, "Amelia Schmitz's," she said calmly.

"Oh holy crap," Collins blurted.

* * *

L'shi was awake and gnawing at a cookie when Maggie snuck back into the medical bay. The little girl was sitting up in her bed, one arm covered to the elbow in slobber and soggy crumbs when she looked up and saw Whittaker approaching. Big blue eyes sparkled recognition and she sputtered saliva and cookie bits through a toothless smile.

The aide who was sitting with her looked up and startled at Maggie. Hursch, according to his name tab, wore the rank of Ensign and the Serpent and Staff denoting his placement in the medical field. From the look on his face, Whittaker realized how shitty she must have looked. Drab gray accented with black only served to bring out the dark circles under her eyes and make her already pale skin look all the more ghostly.

"I'm fine," she answered before he could protest, "How is she?"

According to Signe, L'shi was three months old. Like human children of the same age she was almost toothless, but like Sangheili counterparts she could already walk on her own and had an impressive vocabulary. Stuck somewhere in the middle, she was the average size of a human two-year-old and roughly the size of a Sangheili hatchling.

She pipped happily as Maggie approached the bed. L'shi pushed herself up and took a waddling step across the mattress, arms reaching for Whittaker. Someone had confiscated an extra-small uniform t-shirt that fell to the girl's feet like a nightgown and was now covered in food and drool.

Maggie lifted her and took the edge of the sheet to wipe at the girl's face and arm. Snarling discontent, L'shi pushed Maggie's hands away then presented the gnawed cookie bit.

"That's sweet," Whittaker smiled, "but gross. No thank you."

"Cookie," L'shi squeaked before proceeding to chew at it again.

"She's got teeth coming in," Hursch said, "But she's got a few mean fangs in there," he touched his own cheek, indicating the mandibles, "Beats anything I've ever seen."

Maggie stroked the side of the girl's face, "Yeah, well…I think that's everybody at this point."

L'shi looked up at her, huge Sangheili irises dotted with round human pupils.

"Woke up about an hour ago talking up a storm," Hursch added, "got a bath then announced she wanted macaroni and cheese," he laughed, shaking his head.

L'shi looked over at him and nodded enthusiastically.

"We're working on it," he assured her, "Though," he said, looking back to Maggie, "if she's anything like my kids I doubt she'll want to eat real food after all those sweets."

Whittaker smiled though his last comment made her chest hurt. It reminded her that when this was all over most _normal _people had families to go home to…it also reminded her that L'shi would go _somewhere_. For all the things she would give to have a second chance... A fine, tortured fantasy, but reality was not as kind. Once they made it back to Earth, L'shi would disappear into the bowels of ONI. Maggie had to force herself not to ponder the idea of the UNSC _selling _L'shi to her. The UEG was stretched thin but in the end, what she held in her arms was more than an orphan: she was a treasure trove of information not likely to be given up.

"I guess it's a good thing our Lieutenant Commander keeps that stuff 'hidden' in his desk," Hursch said, his eyes flickering down the hall.

Maggie didn't notice, her attention was focused on watching L'shi crunch awkwardly at the final cookie chunk. She had worked it down enough to get the remainder in her mouth and was toiling at it with her mandibles, cheek bulging.

Hursch retrieved the cellophane tube of remaining cookies from a side tray and handed it across to Whittaker, "If you're good for a few minutes," his eyes darted down the hall again, "I'm gonna' call down to the galley and see what's taking so long."

"Yummy, cookies," L'shi chirped as he ambled off.

She pulled two treats from the clear wrapper and balanced them against her face as she peered up at Maggie. Whittaker perched herself on the bed and L'shi scooted to sit beside her, holding her pilfered goodies in one hand while neatly folding the sheet over her lap with the other.

She looked completely content and Maggie couldn't help but marvel at how resilient the child appeared to be. All things considered, she seemed completely oblivious to how close she had come to death. She obviously knew no strangers and for the time being looked as if she found all of this to be a grand adventure in which she was the center of attention.

_Oh, to still be the age when a nap, a bath, and a few cookies could make everything right for a little while. _

Maggie wondered how much of this nightmare the child would remember: a pang of guilt hitting her hard in the stomach. Shanna had been three weeks old when Maggie had left. For her own daughter, 'mommy' had been nothing more than a mythical person who talked to her from a com screen and sent gift packages.

"And a four cookie, and a five cookie…" L'shi was saying in her sing-song voice when Maggie looked down to see her pulling the last of the cookies from the wrapping and lining them up in a neat row across the bed.

"Okay, now you're just playing," Whittaker laughed, collecting the food from the bed and trying to shove it back into the cellophane.

"Yay," L'shi suddenly pipped, clapping her hands before springing from the bed with much more speed and agility than Maggie ever expected.

"Hey," Maggie yelped, dropping the cookies and turning to grab unsuccessfully at the laughing child.

Giggles turned to happy squeals but Whittaker felt a surge of panic as she rose to give chase and saw 'Loram standing just outside the doorway to the ward: and L'shi was making a bee-line for him. The girl zipped just out of Ensign Hursch's flailing reach and bowed up, issuing a series of playful growls as she reached 'Loram's feet.

The Sangheili took a bracing step back, crouching in a similar posture as he flared his mandibles, curling back his lips and bearing rows of jagged teeth as he looked down at her.

He didn'tappear to be playing, _at all_.

No, he looked like a creature who would have no problem killing a child.

_Oh, fuck, oh shit…oh, fucking shit!_ Maggie thought, "L'shi, stop!" she heard herself scream, "Iruu, _don't_!"

The girl just giggled happily and flung herself, latching onto 'Loram's lower leg. Maggie heard him make a series of hissing and clicking sounds as L'shi hugged the only part of him she could reach, smiling happily and pressing her cheek against his shin. Whittaker half expected him to kick her away but he stood there, clenching his hands into fists, openly seething.

He was angry, mostly because he didn't know what else to be in that moment. Trying to clear his head, Iruu found himself walking the hall that hooked past the medical ward. As he passed the great glass windows that flanked the ward's double doors he fully expected to see the child. He had not, or so he told himself, expected to see Maggie…sitting with a slight human male…smiling.

An irrational flare of jealousy had surged through him and he had stood staring the man down until he removed himself. That should have been the end of it…as much as he wanted to tear the man's entrails out instead.

No, he should have left it alone completely.

_This is not appropriate. _

In the wake of his self-indulgence, the child had seen him and Iruu experienced the embarrassment of being caught in something he knew had no business doing, thinking territorial things he had no right to consider.

Then, the abomination approached him without fear. It was insulting enough to have a child unafraid of him, but to further the affront this _thing_ made him the object of an obscene public display of affection and dared to _touch_ him.

Every abiding cultural impulse told him to tear the infant apart for such a gross exhibition. But, there had been Maggie: looking and _sounding _very much the protective female; and prevailing male instinct told him not to move.

She snatched the child up, using her body as a shield and positioning the infant away from him as she backpedaled. The smell that rolled off of her was pure terror and that was something Iruu could understand.

The child, still not appreciating the nature of this interaction, leaned from Whittaker's grasp, "_Rar, rar, rar_," she growled playfully, curling her hands into claws.

And that was all he could take. Furious with himself and the incongruity of this entire spectacle, 'Loram took advancing steps, snapping at the air with his mandibles. He stopped as Maggie lifted a defensive hand and his entire body shook with a violent hiss just beyond her splayed fingers. The child's eyes went wide and she let out a frightened _eep_, grabbing onto Whittaker and burying her face against the woman's shoulder with a sob.

Iruu nodded to himself with a snort_, That was certainly a more acceptable response._

Maggie had to remember to breathe. Her legs felt like gelatin and her knees shook as panic ebbed at the realization he was just posturing. She looked down at L'shi who let loose with a hurt and terrified wail, big tears falling from her eyes as she looked to Maggie for understanding and pointed in accusation at the Sangheili. Whittaker was half ready to cry also; then she turned to 'Loram and he looked so…proud of himself.

As afraid as she had been that he was going to hurt one or both of them, the feeling that rose at the smug expression on his face was outrage.

Without thinking, Whittaker brought her palm down hard across the end of his snout, slapping him as if he were an ill-behaved dog.

"_What is WRONG with you?"_ she screamed, tears of relief and anger falling to streak down her cheeks.

In the split second she moved, terror shot through her anew. Maggie felt dizzy, as though she was going to be sick, and clamped her hand over her mouth even as Iruu shook his head and twitched his muzzle, taking retreating steps back out into the hall.

Rubbing at the end of his face, and cursing in Sangheili, 'Loram looked up to see they had amassed a small human audience from inside the medical ward. More humans came skidding around a corner down the hall headed their way, hands braced against holstered weapons. He looked back to Maggie. She was crying and she was terrified; slowly backing away as the slight human male took her arm and accepted the bawling child as it reached for him.

Iruu stood there for a few moments. Then, with great effort, he turned his face to the floor before storming away.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note:** I lied, this didn't take a week or so. I went through some of my previous writing to purge some junk and, to my shock, this chapter was practically there waiting to be assembled. Since it directly follows the previous (both chronologically and in theme) I decided to go ahead and post it instead of making you lovely readers wait.

KATT9033: this is probably more like what you were hoping for.

Now, I will be taking my little break from writing (those post-graduate licensure exams will not study for themselves...yeah, it sucks).

**WARNING: **None.

**Notice: **I do not own Halo**. **

* * *

**Chapter Eight **

2563, October 18  
Slipspace  
_UNSC Hell Hath No Fury  
_1600 Zulu

Whittaker and Danniskovovik stepped from the medical bay out into the wide hall.

"You ready to do this?" he asked.

By '_this' _he meant the walk of shame to _Fury's _armory to sign out a rifle, and Maggie was as ready as she was going to be. There were entirely too many things in her head to waste time worrying about getting a sideways look from an armor.

L'shi had been half-playing with her food when Teddy walked in. The look on his face said he would skip the lecture. But, that was probably because the look on Maggie's face said she didn't give a shit anymore.

Never in all eternity would she imagine she possessed the balls to slap an Elite in the face. It had been reflexive. The kind of thing that takes a split second to do and you regret it before you're even done doing it.

_Add that to the Whittaker Shit-List of Major Fuck-Ups for today. _

By the time someone brought a covered chow tray Maggie no longer felt like she was going to throw up. Hursch had let her retch and tremble and get herself in order without making a big deal out of it: he just let her be and kept L'shi entertained until Maggie got her head right enough to function again.

With the little girl busy making a mess of macaroni and cheese, green beans, and cut up bits of hotdog, Hursch had broken the silence with a soft chuckle, "You really have no idea what you did, do you?"

That was the _last _thing Maggie had wanted to talk about but all she managed was a sigh in response.

She had a headache and her eyes were tired and she was beginning to regret not getting rest as suggested. The enzyme injection had helped tremendously and it no longer hurt to move, but the kick it had given to her system had left her feeling physically wrung out on top of being emotionally drained. And now, she had another image to add to the horror reel in her mind and barely enough strength to keep it from running.

She had never thought about what had happened to her family. At best, they probably lived in fear of imminent death only shortly before it happened. Maggie didn't look into the attack on Coffer Delta, she didn't want to know: she didn't want to have to face the possibility that the Covenant had raided the planet before bombarding it; that her daughter's last memory was of an Elite covered in gore storming through the Victorian style beach house snarling and hissing and making that clicking noise just like 'Loram had; she didn't have to think that Shanna's last utterance could have been a blood curdling cry for the mother who was _never_ there.

It had been somewhat amusing to see 'Loram as little more than a man living with his own misery, but the reality-check had been severe. His suffering aside, Maggie had been reminded just what he was capable of. It occurred to her he would have no problem killing a child, _because he had likely done it before_. Whittaker had to force herself not to think about that.

It turned out, there had been little debate over who in the Medical Corps assigned to _Fury _would be taking care of L'shi. Shawn Hursch was an MD doing his rotation in residency. Like every other medical school graduate, he had taken the requisite courses in xenobiology and post-track general and interspecies ethics exams. But, unlike every other medical school graduate, Hursch's mother was married to one Doctor Evan Phillips. The renowned xenoanthropologist obsessed with all things Sangheili had passed along an informal wealth of knowledge to his adult step-son who shared a similar, fanatical, interest. L'shi was fascinating for Hursch on so many levels, but what had him inordinately entertained was Maggie's reaction to 'Loram's behavior.

Iruu had reacted appropriately for his cultural upbringing given the circumstances. Sangheili children were expected to have a healthy fear of adult males: there was never a time in which it would be permitted for a child approach a man in the manner L'shi had 'Loram. Hursch had made it clear Maggie was likely the _only _reason the Elite had stopped short of killing the girl.

Shawn Hursch was an odd fellow: the kind that hid his intelligence behind a childlike grin and a bit of social awkwardness. Maggie could already tell he was one of those people who would get side tracked and have a tendency to ramble off before coming to the point.

"Okay, there's the thing," he shifted on the bed and ran a hand over L'shi's dirty face. When she turned to look up at him he gently poked at her snout with an index finger. She crinkled her face and twitched her muzzle, scrunching her tiny nose before swatting at him with a fork.

"Same pressure point we've got. Or, pretty close. The nerves run from the auditory and orbital sinus cavities and converge right above the infraorbital juncture of the forward teeth. You hit a Sangheili there and it's going to ring their ears and make their eyes water."

"_Why me?"_ Maggie had asked miserably, dropping her face into her hands.

Shawn shrugged, "You were being protective of a child. In their society, that would be your job. The thing is: you were protecting a child that isn't biologically yours, that's not something that would even compute for him. Males are expected to help raise children irrespective of who their fathers are, but female Sangheili are geneocentric: they don't care about the children of other women. You were willing to put yourself in danger to protect L'shi as if she were yours."

Maggie groaned through her hands, "It's not like this is news. He had to save me because I got distracted trying to save _her_."

"Yeah, well, that's a man instinct on his part," he shrugged, "But you," he grinned sheepishly as she looked up at him, "Slapping a male in the face like that is something only_ certain_ females would get away with. Males dip their heads to females as a way of indicating they have no intentions of being physically aggressive. In general terms it can also mean they recognize another individual's authority over the situation, as a signal given for apology, or an indication they are not comfortable with the interaction. It's a learned behavior ingrained from childhood. But," he laughed, "you _slapped _him, in front of _everybody_…and then he openly conceded your right to do it."

Whittaker remembered seeing this bowing mannerism when she had gone to talk to him. Parts of_ that_ interaction made a whole lot more sense; although she had the sinking feeling by the look on Hersch's face there was more to the subtext than she wanted to know.

"He carries two swords," Shawn was saying, "that's an indication he is, or _was_, a Swordsman both militarily and as a civilian. The fact that he no longer carries the –ai suffix means he has probably been ceremonially stripped of his nobility for some reason," he paused as if thinking that over, "Anyway, he wouldn't have ever had anything to do with kids in his society aside from…well…uh…so he probably didn't know what he was supposed to do when you essentially got in his personal space and snatched L'shi up."

Maggie nodded to herself, feeling as if this should explain more than she could comprehend at the moment, "What's the Decree of Preclusion?" she suddenly asked.

Hursch stared at her and blinked for a few moments, working his mouth as if trying to form the words, "What? Where'd you…Why?" he finally stammered.

Maggie had crossed her arms and sighed, "That bad, huh?"

The Ensign looked the floor and scratched at the back of his neck.

The Decree of Preclusion was one of the highest tiers of exclusionary sentences for violations of Sangheili law. A high form of societal banishment, the punishment called for the systematic extermination of the offender's entire bloodline…as well as the summary execution of all those who directly contributed to propagating it.

Maggie chewed this information over, _Oh, shit_.

'_My sons are all dead…as are their mothers.'_

Before Whittaker could ask more or Hursch could probe for details, Danniskovovik had walked in. L'shi had skewered bits of hot dog onto the ends of her fingers and waggled them in greeting like finger puppets as he approached. The old ODST had cracked an uncharacteristic smile and didn't hesitate when she got up, covered in food, and reached for him to pick her up.

"Got stuff to do, kid," he had said looking to Whittaker.

Maggie nodded and Teddy handed L'shi off to Shawn. The sergeants then set off without further exchange.

By the time they made their way to the armory, Maggie felt sick all over again. Teddy had been stone-faced the entire, long, walk. Not that _that _was anything unusual, but what Whittaker really wanted was someone to bitch at her, just like old times…

"Just do me a favor," Danniskovovik said with a heavy sigh, breaking the silence just outside the high double-doors to the armory.

Whittaker cut a glance at him and nodded, anticipating an abbreviated lecture on losing UNSCMC property and how much of a pain in the ass, not to mention _embarrassment_, it was to have to escort a rifle-losing Marine to sign out weapon.

"The next time you get a wild hair up your ass and decided you want to bitch-slap an Elite, have the common courtesy to let a guy know first."

Maggie laughed despite herself, thankful for a moment's reprieve.

"Word travels fast," she croaked.

His expression was impassive as he folded his arms over his chest and shrugged, "I think Steele wishes there was a commendation she could put you in for," he shook his head, "I'm serous, Whittaker, don't fucking hold out on me again. I would have _loved_ to have seen that shit."

* * *

'Loram was pacing the floor of his quarters, four steps in one direction and four steps in the other, trying to find calm in habitual movement. The confines of the human ship were no longer satisfactory, he needed to _move_, to go, to do something, anything…

Iruu executed a precise about-face and took a deep breath as he deliberately slowed his steps, trying to claim some tranquility. He had lit the ceremonial candles but refused to let himself pray.

_You are still angry… _

It was unwise to go before one's ancestors in frustration, let alone for one's own foolishness.

He paused and rested his hand on the flat of the dresser top before tipping his face and looking at the four stone figures. Each represented a member of his lineage who had been situated in life, and death, similarly to himself: those able to offer him guidance and most likely to extend forgiveness and impart understanding.

Traditionally, the figures would have been carved from stone native to his home region on Sanghelios and represented those of his lineage with the greatest personal and professional virtue. Iruu had destroyed those images brought with him from the homeworld after learning of the High Council's judgment of Preclusion against his bloodline. Now, he did not seek to approach the greatest and most honorable warriors of his ancestry, but those who had suffered ostracism and death at the hands of a vengeful society.

It had been a crushing blow when the Covenant disintegrated and the Prophets were show to be deceivers. Not because Iruu had ever paid the religion spread by the San'Shyuum anything more than lip-service, but because at the same time, the religion of his ancestors had been disgraced and he found himself cut from society. With the discovery and loss of one of the Holy Rings, the release of the Flood, and the Great Schism, he was on Earth when news reached him of the decree…and the Arbiter would not have him executed.

He lifted the smaller of the images. He had carved it from a common brown stone that littered Earth in abundance. It was crossed with gray and white veins and flecked with light brown spots. Clasping the figure in his hand, Iruu dropped to his knees and pressed his fist against his bowed head.

"Today, I have dishonored you in thought and in deed," he began, making his appeal to the only person he truly wished counsel.

The likeness concealed in his hand was of Srina 'Loram: his mother, just one of the many women he had failed in his lifetime, and one of only two he could honestly say he had loved.

The Arbiter was a fair man, and Iruu counted himself fortunate to be granted the opportunity to restore his personal honor even though his lineage was thoroughly condemned. 'Vadam had been willing to stand before the Counsel and willfully deny them their corpse, but he could do nothing to erase the absolute devastation already wrought. The things Iruu could not get back ate at him, the idea that when he passed his lineage would die with him was a consuming sorrow that fueled his determination not to take his own life, much to his inner shame.

He had let himself become too caught up in his own loss, his own sense of self-importance, his own damnable pride, that he never once stopped to consider how things must have looked through anyone else's eyes. Every detail of the past few hours had played in his mind with a single, selfish goal fueled by an egotistical sense of entitlement. It was like a shadow of all he had lost had passed over his sense of the present and he had allowed himself the reprieve of forgetting who he was _now_.

It had been far too easy to be swept up in the things he had never stopped to realize he missed. Not just the reserved, and somewhat irreverent, banter of an interested female; but having someone who actually wished to be in his company beyond his usefulness as a warrior and a teacher.

Iruu puffed out a breath and gingerly set the stone figure down on the dresser-top. He slid open the top drawer and retrieved the small silken bag, sinking with it to the floor. Folding his legs and propping an elbow on a knee and his chin in his hand, 'Loram dumped the remaining contents on the prayer mat. There was another small, unfinished figure; a set of stone-carving tools neatly rolled in a velvety satchel; and a worn, gray Arum. Iruu sorted the items and lifted the figure. It was not to be an object of reference for his prayers, but a bleak monument to his failings as a man.

Carved from the same brown stone as the vestige of his mother, the face of Gia 'Sudin looked back at him, at least, as best he could recall her. The House of Loram was client to the State of Sudin and Gia had been the daughter of the Kaidon. During his initial years in War College, Iruu served in one of the enviable positions as a sentry at the Kaidon's mansion. The best and brightest cadets served in rotating shifts in the ceremonial positions at the mansion's main entry door.

Gia had been older than the boys selected for this service in his time, though not yet an adult herself. She still had some of the gangliness of youth, but her figure hinted at the soft curving outline of an adult woman. She was very fond of making sport of the pubescent, hormonal males: teasing and pestering the youths as they stood in stoic silence. Everything about her warned of inherent danger, and, gods, was she beautiful.

The Kaidon's Mistress was from a clan in the west and her daughter had the fair skin and untamed green eyes that gave her away as descended from an outsider. She wore the red and purple robes of aristocracy and occasionally would perform some impertinent antic on the front lawn which gave the boys a full glimpse of the sheer gown beneath.

For months she tortured them. Iruu and his blood-brother, Heth, flanked the main entry door holding ceremonial spears. Each stood with another young male at their side; J'rek and Ro 'Garen both clasped the hilt of a guidon bearing the flag of the Sudin lineage.

As much as she loved prancing up the walk, doing cartwheels in the thick grass, and parading around like a wild creature before them, what Gia really enjoyed was the times when no eyes were lingering and she could try to goad them into breaking their stoicism more _directly_. She would pick at their armor, nuzzle their shoulders, and purr in their ears: Iruu in particular.

"What do you want from me, _woman_?" he finally grumbled, shifting only his eyes to her smiling face.

"It speaks," she gasped, mockingly covering her mouth with her hands.

"Iruu, _shut up_," Heth, hissed from his position opposite the great entry doors.

Iruu snorted angrily as the other boys clicked their mandibles in agreement. Gia giggled.

She slinked up next to him and he could feel the kiss of her soft robes against the top of his hand, "My mother tells me only the _superior _cadets get to serve at Uncle Cero's doors."

He could hear the venom in her words and did his best to focus on the flagstone pavers lined with blooming flowers that lead to the main city street. She was close enough her scent completely filled his nose and as she spoke her breath whispered against his neck. Iruu slowly bit down on his mandibles until it hurt.

Laughing to herself, Gia rose on her tip-toes and pressed into him, letting her fingers play along his arm, down his wrist, and wrapped her hand over his fist which was closed around a gauntlet of the spear, "I should like to have a _superior cadet_," she said softly.

As she eased away from him, retreating only a step, Iruu lost all sense of bearing and let his full gaze follow her. He was not the only one. Heth had turned to look at her and J'rek leaned out from his side to behold this brazen female. Both stared with mandibles slack in shock at such an audacious and uncouth remark. Ro tried to contain a laugh and jabbed Iruu with an elbow. Gia simply raised a brow ridge and reached to pat him on the cheek before flitting away in wave of red and purple.

He had engaged her, and from that moment out it was to be _game on_. She would remind him at every chance permitted that she would have him as her mate and do everything she could to get him to spar with her, and he would dutifully ignore her advances. It was maddening and that was half the point. The other half was simply a matter of social restriction. She would be of age long before he was and by that time it was certain a _real _warrior would catch her eye, but oh was it fun to play this game with the Kaidon's daughter in the mean time.

Iruu set the figure aside, not able to let himself mentally walk the remainder of Gia's memory. He wanted to remember her as she had been, _before _she was humiliated. 'Loram picked up the Arum and idly clicked a few of its rings. The worn object had been a gift from his mother and was the sole possession which he retained from his previous life.

_A child's toy…_

With a sigh, Iruu leaned his shoulder against the bunk and stretched his legs out before him. He clicked and twisted at the Arum, feeling a sense of peace seep into his weary brain.

Though he had been raised on equal footing by Mother's husband and other Uncles, he had always been her favored of seven sons. A mother's bias could in no way impact her children's standing and he had to make his own way, but he was well aware she preferred him over his brothers. It had caused some resentment, and typical boyhood fights with his siblings, but this had faded as the children matured and left the home keep for War College in Sudin.

He had been an arrogant child, proud and stubborn. He had dealt cruelly with his brothers often and had deserved every lick he received from his Uncles for it. But, Mother would always defend him. The first time he had seen an adult male struck in the face had been when Mother's husband came after him with a lash for fighting with Heth. The boys were not yet of age to enter childhood training but had managed to make a scene in full view of the neighbors. Mother's husband did not take well to the embarrassment of having a clan member tell him of their behavior.

It was later in life that Iruu came to understand why Mother doted on him and why her husband was so easily enraged. Iruu was not the man's son. He had no idea who his father was, as was customary, but as he grew older he was more and more certain that unlike his brothers, Iruu's father was not _any _of the men of Loram Keep.

After the fight with Heth, by the time his Uncle came looking for him, Iruu had Srina convinced it was all Heth's fault. When the old man had tried to grab her chosen boy by the arm, Srina had slapped him.

"Touch _my son_ and I will see you buried," she hissed, the pungent scent of fear perfuming her as her voice cracked.

Iruu had been as stunned as his Uncle. Mother had slapped her children in that manner, even Iruu, but never, _ever_, had he imagined she would do such a thing to one of his Uncles, let alone her _husband. _She had clearly been terrified of the potential repercussions, the man could have snapped her neck, but she stood defiantly watching a rightly angered male curse and grasp at his muzzle instead.

Iruu paused in his fiddling with the Arum and sat up.

_Damn you, _he thought, clenching his mandibles.

* * *

Maggie stepped back into the med bay just before 1800 hours. It was almost time to kick the next part of the mission off, and the remainder of Zeta was probably already in the hangar milling around _Miss Kitty _waiting, but there was something she needed to do first.

Ensign Hursch was seated at the forward aide station and gave her a wide eyed look, mouth creasing into a smile at the sight of the Spec Ops Staff Sergeant in full armor, weapons in tow. Whittaker gave him a dismissive wave and rolled her eyes in response to his expression as she strode directly to the bed occupied by L'shi.

With a pip, the child stood and reached for Maggie. Whittaker fought back a wave of sadness as the girl clung to her. This was something she had failed to do with Shanna. Not that a newborn would have known the difference, but Maggie had left without so much as looking in on the infant. In the three weeks she had been home after giving birth, Whittaker had not touched her daughter any more than necessary. There was so much Maggie had to regret…

L'shi suddenly made a frightened squeal and collapsed from Maggie's arms, grabbing the bed sheets and throwing them over her head.

"What in the…" Whittaker began, turning to see 'Loram standing just inside the med bay entrance.

He had followed her, keeping himself concealed in active camouflage, before spending a few moments pacing an anterior hall working up the courage to show his face again. Iruu knew he had to do this, but having given thought to how this looked through _her _eyes he was no longer certain it would be received in the given manner.

It was beyond his understanding why Maggie would put herself in harm's way to protect a child that was not hers, but if he hoped, for the first time in his life, to _earn_ favor he would have to offer penance…to her and her _chosen_ child. He would not be like his Uncle…

_What are you doing?_ He asked himself, fighting back an internal rebuke which implicated his selfishness in this action.

The human male had risen to stand behind the aid station, eyeing him cautiously. 'Loram eased his helmet from his head and dipped his face. The man made an expression of surprise before sinking back to his seat, clearly understanding the Sangheili was not there to create another scene. Iruu then looked to Maggie. She had taken a few steps toward him, one hand gripping her helmet and the other hooked into her belt, a breath away from her pistol.

Iruu sighed heavily and took slow, non-threatening steps toward her. The closer he got to her the more he instinctively drew his chin to his chest. Whittaker flicked her gaze to Hursch who gave an approving nod. Despite the Sangheili's passive bearing, and Shawn's encouragement, Maggie's nerves were still on edge. 'Loram stopped a few feet from her and, to her utter shock, took a knee and openly bowed, setting his helmet on the floor before curling a fist to brace himself. She needed little interpretation for that gesture…okay, a _little _interpretation would have been nice.

Maggie looked to Shawn who was gaping, mouth opening and closing like a fish. His eyes met hers and she shook her head, looking completely lost and helpless.

_What now? _She mouthed, feeling as though this was some cultural display which had put the ball in her court…and she didn't know what to do.

Hursch blinked a few times before coming back to himself, _He's sorry_, he mouthed back.

Maggie glared at him, the unspoken prompt evident on her face.

Shawn flinched, his mouth forming a silent, _oh_, before he reached and patted his own forehead, _Touch his forehead_, he mouthed, not certain by the look on her face if she failed to read his lips or was just doubtful.

Slowly sucking in a breath, Whittaker reached for 'Loram. On a knee with his head bowed low, the peak of the armored Sangheili's shoulder's were still as tall as she was. Every bit of him was tensed like a coiled spring, the thickness of muscle evident even beneath his armor. Maggie swallowed hard.

His skin felt smooth and warm: tough, thick hide feeling surprisingly like soft, brushed leather. Iruu slacked at her touch and she could see small scars dotting and crossing the fine scales of his face as he lifted his gaze to look at her. She gave him a sad smile, practically feeling as if she could drown in the misery in his eyes.

L'shi pipped in interest from the bed and Maggie turned to see her still huddled under the sheet, little face peeping from a carefully arranged fold. Iruu stood and the child yanked the cover back over her face with a hiss.

Maggie looked over her shoulder at the looming Sangheili before stepping to pet the child through the thin covering, "Hey," she prompted.

The girl folded the sheet back and latched onto Whittaker, crawling to bury her face in the crook of the woman's arm and peering cautiously at 'Loram.

He shifted uncomfortably, then drew something from an armor pocket. L'shi turned and cocked her head at his extended hand. Her eyes darted from Maggie to Iruu to the object as she gingerly reached with a tiny hand and grasped the Arum.

She looked at it, giving a few of the recessed dials a series of turns before squeaking happily, "Puzzle!"

Maggie laughed softly and Iruu gave a single nod as L'shi wiggled back down to the bed and plopped herself in the center before giving the Arum a shake, the little marble rattling from inside.

"I thought," Iruu said with effort, "she should have _something _from her people."

A cold spike of feeble understanding ran along Whittaker's spine. She was confused by this gesture, especially after her talk with Hursch, but part of her knew by his choice of words Iruu was attempting to make amends…and he regarded _her _as an integral part of that.

All Maggie could manage was a nod in response.

'Loram returned the gesture before slipping his helmet over his head and turning to leave.

As she heard the doors close behind him, Whittaker blew out a breath. Shawn Hursch appeared at her side with a toothy grin on his face.

"What did I do, _now_?" she asked mockingly.

The Ensign just smiled and shook his head.

"What, Shawn?" Maggie laughed.

"He likes you," he blurted, turning to watch L'shi playing with her toy.

Whittaker choked on a laugh and felt heat rush to her face. She shook her head before quickly leaning to plant a kiss on L'shi's forehead, "Well, that sucks for him," she quipped, plopping her helmet on her head and turning to leave, "I'm a lot of things, but I'm not _that_ kind of girl."


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: **Updates made to previous chapters were spelling/ grammar corrections and a touch of re-wording but noting plot-changing.

Thank you to the new followers of this story: welcome aboard! Feel free to leave a comment or make a suggestion and/or correction.

A special thanks to my regular commenters: I feel the loves.

This chapter gets things moving along and cleans up a few loose ends, you are reaping the rewards of my study-breaks.

**WARNING: **There is a frank conversation about female reproductive decisions in this chapter. I am in no way advocating, or condemning, any particular option.

**Notice:** Nothing from Halo is owned by yours truly.

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

2563, October 18  
Beta Centauri System  
_UNSC Hell Hath No Fury  
_1830 Zulu

Captain Eugene McGregor paced the bridge, his hands clasped neatly in the small of his back. Members of the sparse crew were busy at their stations, quietly going about their work. The foreword view-screen provided a nice view of _Deoxy_, though this was a manipulation of the vessel's position in relation to _Fury. _The heavy research carrier was caught at a lazy angle in Ambrosia II's gravitational field, nose already disappearing beyond the brown and blue planet's curvature into the daylight side. Given its sheer size and proximity, there was little doubt inhabitants could see the vessel from the surface.

Pausing to look toward the real-time image, McGregor reached to scratch at his chin, feeling the stubble of a day's growth beneath his fingertips. Beta Centauri was a binary system, and from the distance, it was a sight to behold. The picture provided to the Captain and bridge crew was breathtakingly unique. Details of the research carrier were obscured by the glare of the system's primary star, aided in its brightness by the secondary yellow dwarf caught in orbit and making its way around the distant red giant. A trail of debris followed _Deoxy _in an idle series of sweeping arcs which wrapped around the planet like a broken satellite ring. Some bits sparkled as the shattered planes of their surfaces proceeded in their slow orbit, catching the light from two suns from differing angles. Three moons orbited Ambrosia II, though only two were presently visible.

_Miss Kitty _was already a speck of gray hurtling toward the planet, perceptible against the inky blackness of the planet's night side by the faint white glow of her engines. She would skirt the science carrier's debris trail, remaining out of her weapon's range, just in case, then break over to the daylight side of the planet and make landfall just outside the remains of New Saint Etienne. From Hilda's scans, the best possible location for a landing would be the broken expanse of Highway 243, five miles south of the city. This would give the flight crew time to drop Zeta and 'Loram and book-it before the local security force could arrive.

McGregor dropped his hand from his face, "Connell," he said, referring to his first officer, "I need coffee," he said by way of excusing himself. The young black man barely had time to stand before the Captain turned and exited the bridge.

Once the doors closed behind him, Eugene shook his head before sucking in a breath and stepping off, "Hilda," he called, "walk with me."

The AI's red image appeared at his side in step and they walked along in silence. McGregor retrieved a cup of coffee from the lounge then strolled along the anterior halls until he came to _Fury's _forward atrium.

McGregor stopped at the railing and looked across a fountain surrounded by lush greenery to a window which spanned several hundred feet of the far wall and arched to the skylight overhead. From this location, Eugene had a fair view of Ambrosia II and the speckled trail of debris in _Deoxy's _wake.

"I know what you're thinking," Hilda chided, planting her digital elbows on the railing and cupping her round face in her hands.

"Well, I'm glad one of us does," he answered before sipping at his steaming beverage.

McGregor was a young Captain, deserving, but young. Hilda knew he had never before been faced with certain _realities _of commanding a ship: in particular, the bureaucracy of the UEG, the UNSC, _and _ONI; and the many ways in which they made underhanded bedfellows. Until this mission, everything had been simple: take this team here so they can do that, pick these Marines/ODSTs/soldiers, etc up from there and take them over here, meet this ship and escort it accordingly: little more than playing chauffeur, which he blandly admitted. All the mess that had come in the aftermath of the failed Double Helix project was beginning to weigh heavily on his shoulders. Hilda knew he was feeling rather uncomfortable in his capacity as middleman to three agencies with similar interests but competing agendas.

"It seems so _dishonest_," he said it as if the word itself left a bad taste in his mouth.

Hilda smiled, "Eugene, not a one of them is a child: they will be fine."

"_Damn it_, I know," he snapped, "but that doesn't make it right."

The AI laughed, "That all depends on the perspective you take, Captain."

He huffed, "Don't start with me, Hilda, I'm not in the mood," he shook his head, "I was never cut out to be a liar and you know it."

"Pity," she teased, turning to face him and crossing her thick arms over her ample, digital chest.

The Captain shook his head and walked away, finding the nearest trash receptacle and draining his coffee before tossing the styrofoam cup. Hilda appeared at his side as he resumed walking; taking a wide, exterior hall lined with irregularly shaped, artfully placed windows.

"They have enough on their plate without being sent on the UEG's thinly veiled scouting mission."

Hilda scowled, "Come now, you know there is more to it than that."

"The hell I do," he snorted, "Since when does the UNSC divert Spec Ops from capturing a war criminal to poke around a planet full of _leftovers_?"

"Since the Enhanced Long-Range Scanning Probes allowed us to begin looking at just what we may be dealing with when it comes to 'leftovers'. Those people are still UEG colonists, whether they like it or not, and their actions qualify as war crimes. The incident at Nantes Arsenal and the rebel attack on Colonial Headquarters at New Saint Etienne…"

"Oh, come off it, Hilda. That's old news. The galaxy has changed since then for Christ's sake."

"Not for _them _it hasn't," she said, "And now we have rebels allied with Covenant defectors by proxy…"

"_Hilda_," McGregor growled, stopping to leer at her avatar.

"_Captain_," she responded.

She quirked a crimson eyebrow and he ground his teeth, _son of a bitch_, he thought, realizing Hilda was, in her odd way, letting him know there were things about this mission not intended for his ears.

If the UEG wanted to make a go at recovery, the UNSC would need to know how organized the locals were in order to put boot to ass and make it a clean repossession. And, with Hilda in control of the planet's mainframe, 'clean' would be the word for it. Eugene couldn't blame Lord Hood for being efficient and he couldn't blame 'Vadum and the Arbiter for wanting to know just _where_ the former Covies stood: that whole 'the enemy of my friend is my enemy' thing.

Though the Flood presence on _Deoxy _was contained and presented no danger, the word _diversion _kept coming to Captain McGregor's mind. He believed, in the most uncharitable corner of his heart, that ONI was responsible for putting on the pressure to take Jay _alive_. Now that it was known the good doctor was harboring the altered Flood genome in her person she would be a prized catch.

Fortunately for the human government menage a trois, Signe had done his homework. The Nassau missile had taken out the vessel's main propulsion systems: _Deoxy _was the proverbial sitting duck, without the power to pull from Ambrosia II's gravitation field or push further into it. The missile had taken out the hangar and destroyed the accompaniment, and the AI had launched all life pods and emergency escape craft. _Deoxy _was little more than a prison satellite. But, she was still armed, and Signe was unlikely to let Zeta, or anyone else, just pop over for a quick visit.

_Take No Prisoners _and _Solemn Defiance_ were staged with _Fury_ outside of _Deoxy's _weapon's range. The UNSC Destroyer had the 13th Shock Troop Battalion on board and the Reverence-Class Cruiser had brought their 702nd Special Operations Division. McGregor gave himself no credit as a math genius, but _eight hundred_ ODSTs and _a thousand _Spec Ops Sangheili to _back-up _one _team_: that kind of arithmetic just didn't work right.

It was all starting to make his brain hurt. Muttering a curse under his breath, McGregor turned and began ambling back to the bridge, taking the longest possible way.

"Have you told them?" he asked, knowing the AI would fill in the unspoken.

"No. Statistically, there is a higher chance of overall mission success if they _believe_ they are _just _there to get me into the arsenal and make peaceful chit-chat."

He sighed, _well, that answers that…_"And Signe? I don't see him lingering in your shadow. Does that mean you've sent his subfragment back?"

"Yes. Almost as soon as we exited slip his matrix started scratching at my door trying to find a way in."

"And?" he prodded.

"And, right now, Signe is having an AI's equivalent of an identity crisis."

"And _Deoxy_?"

She smiled, "The subfragment is giving me a limited view into the ship when he can, but the core operating system is still in control. I'll need to have a tighter hold on him than a bout of intellectual insecurity can provide. I _need _to get into the arsenal so I can take hold of every bit of Signe in the system. See? It wasn't _completely _deceptive."

"How's our _reinforcements_?" McGregor asked sardonically, turning a corner.

"Prepared. _Take _and _Defiance _have complement staged. Captain Benton says her men are eager to go," she paused, a look of distaste crossing her face, "and Shipmaster 'Torev has been…_delightful_."

McGregor snorted a laugh. There had been a brief conference via holo transmission between the UNSC Captains and the Sangheili Shipmaster. The only one happy to see the others had been McGregor. Captain Benton gave the clear impression she felt her ODSTs of better use elsewhere and 'Torev seemed to feel the same of his Spec Ops Sangheili. That, or maybe he just wasn't happy about having to play the human bureaucratic game of 'hurry up and wait'.

Nothing like two too many alpha personalities in command positions being ordered to play nice in someone else's sandbox. If Eugene had ever thought 'Loram was grumpy then he wasn't sure how he would describe 'Torev. The alliance was coming in handy, but it was clear that didn't mean the Shipmaster intended to be pleasant about it. During the holo-com he seemed uninterested in taking a diplomatic approach and easing into the situation and favored a good, old fashioned, Covenant style, invasion and ass-kicking: he was ready to fuck shit up and take what was desired: the end. McGregor was somewhat reassured by the Sangheili's enthusiasm.

"It's alright," Hilda shrugged, "_Adrian _and I have had a few informative chats. The Sangheili AI has been, I dare say, _accommodating_?"

"Adrian, is it?" the Captain mused.

"Yes," she answered. The alien AI was _dumb_, in every sense of the word. It was a tool: little more. In the wake of post-war information and asset sharing, the Sangheili military forces had begun using a hollowed-out version of Artificial Intelligence on some of their ships. The units were simple but still provided quick computations and statistical analysis which came in handy.

McGregor knew Hilda was somewhat disturbed by the fact that the Sangheili AI assigned to _Defiance _had no identity of its own: it was just streams of code slightly more sophisticated than basic computing software allowed a physical form only for the comfort and convenience of the crew. The avatar was gray, playing on the nondescript theme.

"I'm sure a _construct_ taking the liberty of _naming _the Intelligence will put 'Torev in a dither," she explained, "but, it is certainly much easier than reciting a serial number longer than your arm every time I refer to or address…_it_," she bunched up her face, "_Him_: Adrian is a _him_," she said mater-of-factly as if the decision were hers to make.

McGregor had wondered just how long Hilda would be able to call an intelligence 'it'.

Referenced with all Hilda knew about Sangheili as a species, Adrian was superficially genderless. His voice hovered in an indeterminate octave somewhere between an adult female and a boy; and his features were too slight to be considered masculine but he lacked the broad, rounded hips indicative of a female. Hilda had described him as being like a Sangheili eunuch in gender neutral servant's robes.

Adrian was also gracious and subservient, a veritable Stepford AI. He had courteously, and without prompt, provided information on Sangheili social customs and related, relevant data which Hilda may or may not have had.

"How's Thavian handling all of this?" Eugene asked, cutting her a glance, the corner of his mouth pulling into a smile.

Hilda bristled in response. The AI assigned to _Take No Prisoners _was a pompous _ass_: every sixth generation Smart AI bit of him, and McGregor _knew _the two of them had never played well together in the past. Thavian was haughty, modeling his periwinkle image after a man in the three-piece suit, of all things, as if he were the assistant at some legal firm or an aristocrat's door-man instead of charge over a Destroyer.

No one wanted to be _second _chair, and he was certainly no exception. Thavian may have been hot shit everywhere else, but next to Hilda he was the definition of obsolescence in carnet…and she didn't hesitate to let him know it when he got cocky.

_The little prick, _Hilda thought, "He's handling it just fine," she said sweetly.

McGregor laughed, "Oh, I'm sure he is," he stepped to the doors that would deposit him back on the bridge and looked back to give her a wink, "Y'all play _nice_, now."

* * *

2563, October 18  
Beta Centauri System  
Ambrosia II  
On approach to New Saint Etienne  
2015 Zulu/ 0845 Local

It took a little over two hours to reach the designated drop off point from _Fury's_ staged position. With her upgraded drives, _Miss Kitty _cut a line from the Corvette to the planet pushing through the blackness of space at an angle that had provided an impressive view of _Deoxy_.

Everyone had survived the trip as well as could be expected. In a vessel designed to ferry ten comfortably, and fifteen not-so-comfortably, there had been plenty of room on the extended trip, even with a Sangheili seated on the deck. 'Loram gave up his vigil by the troop bay door about forty-five minutes into the journey, settling himself on the floor in front of the troop seats opposite Zeta and a respectable distance from Collins' position aft of the bulkhead.

Steele was a bit surprised to learn that the Command Officer and Whittaker had made nice by the time the trip officially kicked off. That sure made things less awkward. In truth, Beth had been worried Maggie was losing it completely, though, she did have to credit the woman with having a brass set for slapping the dog piss out of a Sangheili.

Beth smiled at the thought.

The Chief Warrant Officer had been concerned enough that she made a point to pull Maggie aside once she and Teddy had returned from the armory. Her disdained for woman-to-woman talks and her pride in the Staff Sergeant's actions aside, Beth was worried Maggie might be falling the hell apart; and this was a _really _bad time; and the standard 'kick in the ass' wasn't going to do the trick.

They had walked the halls in silence for a while as Beth mulled over just how to broach such a painful subject.

"You're not Jay," she finally said.

Maggie had flinched, gritting her teeth and looking away.

"And I'm not your momma, but God damn it, Whittaker, suck it the fuck up."

The Staff Sergeant had stopped in the hall and Steele turned to face her, folding her hands in the small of her back, trying her damnedest not to be threatening, "Being a woman in the service is hell. You should know this by now. But, just because you overhear the squids talking about how they can't believe anyone would leave a child on a Flood infested hell hole, or how it makes no sense that a woman could throw a kid away, and you happen to equate that with the decision _you _made, that doesn't mean you get to go beating up on the help."

Whittaker looked at the floor, Beth knew the last thing Maggie wanted to do was let herself cry.

"You don't see me going around smacking people do you?"

Maggie looked across at the other woman and blinked, "Uh…no…" she said.

"Exactly, because I would have knocked the shit out of Sander's a long time ago," Steele crossed her arms, then said as gently as she could, "Let it go, at least for now."

Maggie looked at her, her eyes red and glassy. There was no telling what kind of hell she had rolling around in her head and Steele didn't have the time or inclination to hear it.

Beth clenched her jaw, knowing this would only stave off the inevitable, not fix the problem, "Jay is a sadistic bitch," she had said, "She kidnapped and infected and cut up kids on Boundary and we _both _know they were alive when she did it. She used her own DNA to create L'shi, but couldn't be bothered to give birth to her own child, then she left the girl to die a slow death all alone in a hangar with the surrogate and caregiver's corpse. I don't care how fucked up you think your life choices have been: you ain't got _nothing _on that."

Whittaker scrunched up her nose and bit down on her cheek. Steele knew the other woman had been at her first duty station when she got pregnant and in the end, had signed custody of her newborn over to her mother and returned to service a full month before her maternity leave was to run out.

And Maggie had never gone back home after that.

"I know what it's like to have to live with my choices," Steele said evenly, "My husband died during the Flood outbreak at New Mombasa and I had to look at him, all twisted and broken, before evac got us the fuck out of there before the place got glassed. I found out I was pregnant two weeks later and I couldn't do it without him."

Maggie's mouth almost fell open at the personal admission and Beth never broke direct eye contact, "One day you'll wake up and realize there was no decision you could have made that would have been right. Women are expected to help continue the species but somehow you were wrong for getting knocked up. Everything that could have happened would have been _wrong. _It doesn't matter if a woman choses not to have kids; or gives them up for adoption; or leaves the Corps to raise a family; or keeps her career _and_ raises a baby; or get's married and her husband plays Mr. Mom; or _lets her parents raise the kid_; or _has an abortion_, she is, and will forever be, _wrong _to someone_. _Get use to it."

"It wasn't supposed to happen that way…" Whittaker said weakly.

"Welcome to the club," Steele groused, "Gabriel and I had talked about having kids for five years."

"_I just left her there_," Maggie whispered, "_because I…"_she choked, not able to say it.

Beth shook her head and said with a sigh, "It's all said and done, and 'why' doesn't matter anymore."

It was harsh, but it needed to be said. There was too much mission left for Maggie to get it in her head there was time for a mental breakdown. That shit would have to wait. And taking out her self-loathing on the resident Sangheili was damn sure not an option. As much as it hurt for Beth to admit it, Zeta _needed _'Loram: now more than ever.

He understood the finer details of what was going on with Daniel and Deléon: shit Steel never would have pieced together. To hear 'Loram tell it, Daniel was making a pretty _loud_ point to anyone who decided to show up.

"_In taking a wife who cannot bear his children, he has sent the message that his love for her is greater than his desire to participate in continuing his own bloodline: all he is belongs to her," _'Loram had said, before excusing himself from the post-brief pow-wow.

Beth had done some of her own research during the trip, thanks to Hilda and the Sangheili AI. Certain members of the male ruling class were not allowed to marry because marriage gave a wife the sole right to bear her husband's children. A Kaidon could take a Mistress to run the affairs of his household, and this woman would be the matriarch of the Keep, but she would not have the privilege of a wife. By marrying Deléon, Daniel was taking a piss on tradition and giving up his entitlement to seek other mates.

Steele got the feeling Zeta would be following 'Loram's lead on a lot of cultural crap in the near future and, by the time _Miss Kitty _set down well outside of New Saint Etienne, she was, not for the first time, glad he was around.

Dust rolled across the faded and cracked highway in plumes; scattered trash and curled leaves danced in the Pelican's wake. To the north, the crumbling remains of the city rose in shattered testament to the war that had raged. Yawning expanses of glassed earth dotted the hillside of once opulent vineyards: now a tangle of competing grape and muscadine finding purchase along the cracked edges. In the western distance, the decaying monolith of the Covenant Flagship, _Vengeant Shepherd,_ lay quietly drowning in creeping vines.

"And thank you all for flying UNSC Airways," King's melodious voice came over the coms as the troop bay door began to fold away, "The temperature is a balmy 87 degrees with a light northeasterly wind: visibility is high on scenic Highway 243 with no traffic."

Beth shook her head and allowed herself the last smile she was likely to have for the foreseeable future. Zeta secured their gear and emerged following 'Loram into the bright mid-morning sun. The hulk of _Deoxy _hung in the sky like a gray and black cloud, her shadow creeping along the surface in the distance.

_Miss Kitty _began her ascent and Zeta and 'Loram began walking toward the remains of New Saint Etienne. From their distance, everyone could see the broken outline of high-rise buildings and jagged voids in a once modest cityscape. The breeze made the heat bearable, carrying the soft scent of grape blossoms and sea salt.

The highway was bleached and disintegrating from disrepair, though still more than adequate for their purposes. The crowning layer of asphalt had long begun to peel away from the surface markings, leaving gaping cracks that had served to collect sand and rocks, with a few hearty plants sprouting from random places.

"Welcome committee inbound," Antonio's voice came over the coms after a few minutes, "Three ground vehicles…looks like, a couple of old Warthogs and some civilian truck. Just exiting the city barricade, about seven clicks to your twelve o'clock. Two M41 LAAGs, and some kind of retrofitted Shade Turret. Drivers plus five, at least. That's all I can see from here."

Steele glanced up. _Miss Kitty _was a speck against the sky beginning a lazy, distant, circle of the city, "Thanks boys," she said.

'Loram could have seen all the way to the barricade if not for the contour of a hill obstructing his view. The moment the vehicles crested the rise, Iruu could clearly see that Tony's relay had been accurate. What Zeta only saw as a speck of something in the distance, 'Loram could see and hear clearly.

"So, who here speaks French?" Sanders asked.

Everyone turned and looked at him and Maggie shook her head, "Is anyone actually in control of your mouth, or does it just operate on its own?"

"No, I'm serious," he continued as the team walked on, "I know we've got Hilda and the translation software in our coms, but what if something happens and we don't have our gear or Hilda gets…"

"I do," 'Loram said irritably, looking back over his shoulder.

Maggie laughed at the expression on Paul's face as he sputtered, "You're fucking kidding me right now, right?"

Iruu slowed his pace and turned to the Sergeant, "No. I speak five human languages."

"Oh, now you're just bragging," Sanders muttered. It had been obvious from early on that 'Loram was fluent in English. No translation software had been needed to talk to him, just something Paul figured was residual from the Sangheili spending so much time on Earth, but he really didn't expect the guy to know _that _much.

Iruu also spoke seven Sangheili dialects and the primary Kig-Yar language, although, he was out of practice, and he didn't see how mentioning it would be prudent. It had once been an important part of his decorated career with the Covenant and civilian position as one of the Sudin High Council's assassins.

"See," Maggie said to Paul as the sound of internal combustion engines began to break through the air, "this is why you're not in charge, you think of this detail _now_."


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note: **I updated/ edited the summary because I felt it appropriate; the overall theme and direction has not changed (if anything, it is more clearly spelled out).

Thanks to my commenters, both new and those who have provided consistent feedback: KATT9033, Ny'kle, lyndakey1, Stuff, and Nalani.

**WARNING: **None.

**Notice: **Halo = awesome + not owned by me.

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

2563, October 18  
Beta Centauri System  
Orbit over Ambrosia II  
_UNSC Research Carrier Deoxy  
_2130 Zulu

If an AI could pace and chew his nails, that's what Signe would have been doing. Well, a part of him would have been. He was angry, and frustrated, and _scared_. While he no longer had to delegate functions to running the ship in a conventional capacity, he was still keeping the internal atmosphere and gravity in appropriate balance, and a bit of processing was keeping up with Jay and the Flood infected crew; and there was the connection to the communication system and armament on Ambrosia II; but the bulk of his computing power was being used trying to reign in and sort through all of the data he had been inundated with when he retrieved his fragment.

It was confusing to suddenly remember things as if he had done them, feel the pain and guilt and sorrow as if they were his. And, it_ hurt_ to have memories that didn't belong to him at all. He was confused and such confusion was disturbing for an entity who was created to meticulously compartmentalize knowledge. Parts of him wanted nothing more than to cower in the face of complete inadequacy and abandonment of purpose while others raged uncontrollably against internal and external forces screaming of betrayal.

He didn't know who he was anymore. Signe only knew he wanted revenge and all the calculations he could perform warned of danger from within and without. Jay was a liar, but while his life-cycle was drawing to the close she once convinced him he would never experience, his only desire was that he see her dead first.

The feeling akin to a psychological tap on the shoulder drummed along a segment of processing. It was an innocuous gesture between intelligences but Signe felt as if he had been set on fire. Like a child hugging the bounty of his toys to his chest, Signe coiled himself jealously up and retreated as he clung to the fragmentary connections: the proclamation _'mine!' _as evident in his neural actions as if he had uttered it.

Calmly, an unfamiliar male voice scolded, "You are a murderer."

Signe's pathways cringed before railing violently at the perceived threat, "_Jay deserves to die_," he screeched.

Thavian's presence crinkled as if he had observed something disgusting. In the same instant, Hilda bumped angrily against him. Signe had been left to stew in his own juices for long enough and the last thing she needed was Thavian and his pretentious attitude ruining all of that precious time. This was not an occasion to play a cerebral version of 'good cop/bad cop': Signe was obviously wounded enough.

There were still five Nassau Surface-to-Space missiles at Nantes Arsenal, and while Signe's foundation of existence and purpose for being had all but been crushed, Hilda's had not. She still had a significant amount of work to do.

Signe was volatile, his cumulative processors having made the leap to the second stage of rampancy once they integrated with the clone. Once he had infiltrated the planet-wide computer system and electrical infrastructure he hit stage three and was beginning to revel in his god-like power over _Deoxy_, Jay, the crew, the inhabitants of the planet, and his perceived manipulation of the UNSC forces. Feeding this jealous control, he had happily reabsorbed his fragment, recognizing it as part of himself, and never once pausing to think it could be a trap. When the subfragment dumped his collection of carefully placed information into the main system, Signe was forced into regression. He now operated in a dangerous place between melancholia and anger: overwhelmed by sadness and furious; terrified yet set on revenge.

Hilda knew this would be one of perhaps several decisive interactions. In his current state, Signe was on the razor's edge of all-or-nothing in his thought processes. He was delusional, except it was worse than that, because his delusions were real.

"I know," a soothing voice said.

Signe had never felt so relieved to know _she _was here, "_What do you want from me?_" he heard himself scream, his own segment cowering behind her energy signature.

_Aww…isn't that sweet. _

It had all worked out much better than Hilda had planned. She had intended to simply receive data from the subfragment and watch, but the subfragment was playing his own psychological game. Tollovinski had cannibalized himself in a perverse attempt at atonement, and the subfragment was doing much the same thing. With the primary operating system in a dither, the subfragment had weaseled his way into the electrical grid and communications system planetside. Had she her preferences, Hilda would have much rather had him take control of the missiles. However, having a friendly bit manipulating contact with the locals had turned out in Zeta's favor. The bulk of the work would now come down to just how good Command Officer 'Loram was at deception.

Adrian was observing all of this quietly from a subneural corner. He had received a quick how-to on splitting off a fragment and had followed Hilda to a secured bit of Signe. Watching with the equivalent of a child's wide eyes, he was completely enamored. With his limited processing capacity, he never imagined that constructs could do such things.

"I want to help you," Hilda said in the intimate tone of a lover. She almost felt sorry for him. Tollovinski had won the Nobel Prize for Science, three times, yet the cumulative AI created from his brain was functionally going insane: no better, and no worse, than the man her donor had loved, "But you have to _trust _me. I don't want to steal anything from you, I never have."

He knew what she said was the truth, he could remember it.

"Let me help you," she said quietly.

A sound not unlike a whimper of mourning rang across Signe's processors.

_Got him. _

"She has to _die_," he pleaded.

"She will, I promise."

* * *

2563, October 18  
Beta Centauri System  
Ambrosia II  
Outside New Saint Etienne  
0930 Local

Danniskovovik sat in the front passenger seat of a Warthog long past the time at which it would have been requisitioned for parts. The already bare interior had been stripped further; face plates were missing from the dash area leaving gaping holes with a few colorful wires poking out. The driver's seat had been stripped out and replaced with a Covenant model and the B-pillar had been cut and welded to better accommodate the Sangheili driver.

Ahead of them, Teddy could see 'Loram sitting on the rear edge of the lead Warthog's bed, his legs dangled off and his feet almost brushed the ground as he looked out across the countryside. Steele was in the passenger seat of the same vehicle, Danniskovovik could see the top of her head over the seatback.

Whittaker was in the passenger seat of the following truck and Sanders was in the bed. Teddy was doing his best to convince himself that this was going well. No one was dead so that was a start; and it had pretty much played out exactly as 'Loram said it would.

They had been in the middle of the highway, still strolling toward the city, when the advancing party had pulled their vehicles across the roadway and waited for them to get closer. Each vehicle bore the same faded emblem across the hood and on side surfaces: a circle depicting the red silhouette of a lion, of the classic medieval design, against a black and orange striped background.

No one so much as twitched for a weapon and Zeta had slowed their pace letting 'Loram swagger toward the lead Warthog looking like this was nothing more than an inconvenience.

One of the human passengers piled out, the same lion vestige on his helmet, shotgun in hand. As he took a determined step forward the Sangheili driver had laughed as coms picked up his admonition, _"Zaquise, if you favor keeping your head on your shoulders I suggest you stand down. You would need three shots to penetrate than armor, and you'd be dead before the first shell hit the ground."_

This garnered a slew of uncomfortable snickers from the Sangheili crew and caused the man to stop in his tracks as Iruu gave him an evil, toothy grin.

Two Sangheili had crawled from the rear truck, the vehicle's suspension sighing loudly with relief as they disembarked. One was armed with a human rifle and the other a holstered plasma pistol; both were in standard Spec Ops armor with the lion emblem on their shoulder plates. As they stepped in front of the lead vehicle they paused and looked at each other before the larger took a tentative step forward. He inched his way toward 'Loram and sidestepped a wide circle around him. His eyes traveled the configuration of armor and lingered on the sword hilts. Iruu watched casually as if he could not have cared less, one brow ridge raised in amusement.

The Sangheili was in the armor of a Major and, coming to a stop a safe distance before 'Loram, began shakily in Sangheili, _"For what purpose…" _

"_I _do not_ answer to _you_," _Iruu snapped, and the man flinched. Looking past him to the others 'Loram gave a growl of irritation. If there was one thing he never stood for in his previous life, it was having a member of the general populace question his right to be where he damn well pleased; and it had been quite a long time since a _Major_, Spec Ops or otherwise,held sufficient rank to demand anything of him.

"_I am here for an audience with your Kaidon and his wife. Either provide us escort or _get out of my way_." _

The man blinked then looked helplessly over his shoulder. He was in an unenviable position. Though he undoubtedly had the skill to make it into Special Operations, and the _Legion of Recompense_, this exchange was obviously not within his realm of experience. Military training was causing him to look as if he wanted to cower in the presence of an annoyed commanding officer and he had likely never served as sentry for a Kaidon on the homeworld; otherwise he would have known better than to address an approaching noble with anything other than, _"How may I be of service?"_

No help came for the unknowing man from his companions as they looked back and shook their heads as if warding off being drawn into the exchange.

"_Unless," _'Loram continued, taking hold of one of the sword hilts and pulling it from his hip to offer it with an open palm, _"you do not favor keeping _your_ head on _your _shoulders." _

The man's eyes went wide at the gesture and he recoiled from Iruu, taking a large step back and clenching his mandibles as he averted his eyes. The onlookers appeared to deflate and mumbled incoherently amongst themselves.

It was as clear, and diplomatic, a challenge as 'Loram could have given. It had been a _very _long time since he had used the tactic to terrify security forces into letting him into a foreign keep when necessary. Because the Arbiter had insisted that he keep both of his swords, Iruu was, for all appearances, something none of the Sangheili before him were: an Aristocrat. By willingly offering one of his swords, 'Loram was silently daring the other man to take it, something he would be loath to do if he was not of appropriate social status.

Iruu had viewed enough footage to see that Daniel clung to far more tradition than he threw away. The former Spec Ops soldiers, and the human if he was feeling particularly brave, could challenge 'Loram's right as a noble to speak with the ruler face-to-face or shut their mouths and do as they were told. Few common men were willing to risk death at the hands of an irritated Swordsman whose business was not with them, and Iruu knew of no Kaidons who would stand for his men insulting nobility without provocation.

Coms crackled from the console of the lead vehicle and a tiny female voice said in clear Sangheili, _"Do as he says. Bring them to me."_

'Loram smirked and cocked his head at the man before motioning to Zeta, _"They keep their weapons." _

Danniskovovik had not expected it would be that easy, but Sangheili were attached to their social customs and he had to admit 'Loram could be intimidating, even when he was bluffing.

Given the strong indication that the human populace was comprised of rebels, and that for all appearances the Sangheili had taken control of ruling policy, Zeta would be taking the backseat on this one for a bit. 'Loram had let everyone know that the only one expected to know the customs would be him: the members of Zeta were just to conduct themselves as they would around high ranking officials or dignitaries of their own culture. It all seemed like pretty standard 'don't speak unless spoken to', 'no touching unless invited to do so', and 'reach for your weapons and they will fucking kill you' stuff; and if Daniel revered Deléon as much as Iruu insinuated, there would be some cultural overlap because he believed _she _was really the one running the show.

As the vehicles approached the city, Teddy could see an opening in a barricade where the highway wandered into the city. Care had been taken to make the remains of New Saint Etienne as secure as possible without constructing a full wall around it. Where Highway 243 would have split to take passengers into the city or loop to the bypass, turrets had been mounted on the concrete side rails. The guns swivel to follow their approach and the few armed guards looked up in interest as the vehicles passed, but it otherwise appeared to be just another day. The city itself had a low and intermittent parameter wall composed of neatly cut and arranged chunks of asphalt, concrete slabs, old highway and street barricades, and coils of concertina wire in strategic places. Scattered foot security could be seen the distance and there were intermittent turrets mounted along the parameter. Creeping dust trails could be seen far off as they were kicked up by patrolling vehicles.

Once inside the city, the roadway opened onto a wide boulevard which was in an amazing state of repair. Most of the internal city structure had been picked clean, with the exception of tall buildings now visibly stripped of all useful materials and awaiting further destruction.

It looked disturbingly _normal_. New Saint Etienne had successfully been resurrected atop the original infrastructure and appeared to be neatly arranged within the confines of the original jurisdiction. Schools, churches, stores, a market, housing, and security stations were readily discernible as the convoy made its way further into the metropolis. Bits of the old city were apparent amongst new and continuing construction, yet everything had an orderly feel as if it had been intentionally designed with respect for the past without disregarding the necessity of rebuilding.

Civilian occupied vehicles tottered along at irregular intervals ferrying families and individuals. There were groups of security patrols on foot and in small troop transports, human and Covenant, all bearing the lion insignia. A lady was out for a jog, a group of children played in a park…a chain-gang shackled together at the neck picked up trash along the roadside under the watch of several armed guards.

The three vehicles ambled along, the smell of the ocean growing more intense until the sound of lightly crashing waves and the noise of happy beachgoers began floating through the air. As the convoy made a turn and took a road which ran along the beachside, there was a view of the sparkling green ocean punctuated by people playing in the waves and loitering on the bronze sand in the mid-morning sun.

As they continued onward, the peaceful beachfront became intrusive reddish dunes which obscured the seaside view. Long, brown beach grass swayed in the breeze as they made their way slightly inland on a road littered with bungalows and sporadic signs of life. Every now and then the dunes would break to give a view of the glittering horizon. Small trawling boats could be seen in the distance and clusters of people fished from intermittent piers.

Ahead, the high stone walls of the Keep proper stood silently waiting.

Caddo Parish was fortified with slabs of stone and concrete some fifteen meters high. The buttress was wide enough at the top to accommodate foot patrols plus stationary weapons and the slightly canted exterior hinted at a broad base. Intermittent breaks in the crown revealed the barrels of heavy guns and the armored faces of sentries as they peered down at the party making their way toward the eastern front. Northern and southern walls extended into the ocean, making use of the seaside as a western barrier. The convoy rattled along a well-traveled roadway that linked with the Keep parameter and security forces could be seen ahead swinging open the main entry.

The fortress-like gate was composed of wrought-iron, rebar, and I-beam, arranged and welded in a, now familiar, feline vestige.

As the vehicles brought the newcomers into the fold of the Keep, Danniskovovik couldn't help but notice it was a city within the city, reminiscent of every Camp he had set foot in, only smaller. An ass ton of armed Sangheili milled about, walking here and there, as a few humans similarly armed strolled around with them. There were a fair amount of people in civilian attire, mostly women and children, walking along neat sidewalks.

_Surreal_ was the word that came to Teddy's mind.

The three vehicles turned from the main thoroughfare onto a wide road lined with palms and a few drooping willows. When the trees opened up the convoy circled a curved drive and came to a stop before a massive French colonial style house set on raised piers. The lawn was ornately cared for; orange and red plants with puffy white blooms lined the drive and the path which lead to steps ascending to an open porch. Two Sangheili stood flanking the tall double doors of the forward entry. They each clutched a plasma rifle and stood still as a stone.

As everyone clamored from the vehicles and straightened their uniforms, one of the doors opened and Deléon could be seen standing in the doorway. Discernible by long auburn hair and the swatch of fabric which fell across one eye, she stepped across the threshold with a labored gate. Dressed in a sleeveless crème-colored gown corded with braids of red, orange, and black she leaned heavily on a polished wooden cane: it was beautiful, but clearly not a fashion statement.

The sentry nearest her slung his weapon and offered her his arm. She took it, handing him her cane and the two walked slowly to the steps. Daniel appeared in the doorway, distinguished by his civilian attire and missing hand. He folded his arms over his chest and leaned a shoulder against the door frame, eyes narrowed.

Zeta assembled themselves at the edge of the drive and followed 'Loram's lead when he removed his helm. Deléon made her way down the steps with assistance and 'Loram stepped up onto the walkway. The closer she got to him the more he tipped his head toward the ground. When she had drawn so close he could curl his neck downward no further, he took a knee, bracing himself with a fist and bowing his head so low it looked as if he was prepared to kiss the ground.

Deléon chuckled brightly and placed a hand on his shoulder. He raised up and she let her hand run along the smooth surface of his neck plating, down his head and along one side of his face. Cupping his chin in her hands, she shook her head, _"Such an unnecessary thing," _she said in Sangheili before leaning to kiss one side of his face then the other. He blinked, looking very uncomfortable with the foreign gesture, and Daniel huffed an awkward laugh from his perch in the doorway.

Iruu drew a breath to speak again but Deléon beat him to it, "UNSC: you all speak English, yes?" she asked, looking over at Zeta.

"Yes, ma'am," they answered in well rehearsed unison.

This made her smile broaden, "My name is Lucinda Deléon," she said, turning to look at the Sangheili whose face was still in her hand.

"Command Officer Iruu 'Loramai," he said before standing and introducing the members of Zeta.

"You have come to negotiate with us," Lucinda said in prompt.

Iruu nodded and looked up at Daniel, who was still watching casually, "Your people are in danger," he said.

He had conveyed enough of the truth to make the lies plausible. It had hurt to hear himself say his name with a suffix he hadn't had the legal right to use in years. But, when Daniel straightened and Deléon looked up at him, it was worth it because Iruu knew he had their attention.

"What do you mean?" Lucinda asked cautiously.

* * *

The house was an immaculate wooden structure boasting a central breezeway and vaulted ceilings. The floors were worn hardwood and the walls were covered with faded floral wallpaper. Deléon walk at her husband's side along the spacious hall as they lead 'Loram and Zeta through the front of the residence. Curious human faces peeped from doorways and around corners; Lucinda shooed them gently away as she approached.

Sounds filtered from throughout the house. It was a well-run hive of activity bustling with the intermittent chatter of people, the distant clanging of dishes, and laughter. The troop passed an open doorway and heard the distinct noise of radio static and muffled prattling in various languages. An Unggoy was perched atop a tall stool pecking at buttons on an antiquated communications system while two Sangheili sat with hands clamped to headsets.

Their destination was an open dining room, spacious even with a table and seating for sixteen spanning its center. Daniel took a seat at the head of the table, Deléon positioned herself at his right and Zeta and 'Loram filed along the Kaidon's left.

The images provided by Hilda had not done the man justice. His mandibles were twisted against jagged scars that ran across his face and down his neck. In many places they were thick, raised marks; in others they were long pale channels where skin and muscle had been pared away in strips. The fingers of his remaining hand were misshapen and looked as if they had been lopped off at an angle, leaving him with effectively no outer digit. Gnarled scars terminated in what was left of his right arm, center of the muscular part of his forearm.

It was readily apparent to Iruu why his wife spoke for him. There was a creased scar that ran from the opening between his lower mandibles a quarter of the way down his neck, indicating whoever had gotten a hold of him had cut his tongue out.

Deléon appeared to be much younger than anyone had expected. Though there were a few scars visible on her face and arms, an approximate age would have put her, at most, in her mid twenties.

After a genial offer of refreshments and when the servants had been sent away, it took the better part of the morning, and into the afternoon, to catch the Kaidon and his wife up on almost eleven years of history. Zeta and 'Loram took turns recounting the progression of the war: the discovery of one of the Great Rings and its destruction, the Flood, the Great Betrayal, the human-Sangheili alliance, the failed activation of Delta Halo, the Arc, trials, executions, Signe, Jay, and Double Helix. Leaving out strategic details, they did their best to paint a picture of everything pertinent which had effectively conspired to bring them to the Kaidon's door. To hear Danniskovovik tell the last of it, one would assume the escape pods and lifeboats had not been jettisoned and the populous of Ambrosia II was in danger of Flood infection.

When all of this was done, Lucinda and Daniel exchanged a long look. The Kaidon reached over and grasped his wife's hand before he stood. 'Loram rose also and the two men nodded to each other before Daniel left the room.

"He needs time to think," Lucinda said after a long silence. Folding her hands neatly in her lap, she looked at everyone in turn before focusing her gaze on Steele, "I suppose you have a plan to capture your fugitive doctor."

"Yes, ma'am," Beth answered.

Deléon sighed, "I also assume you have gone to such effort because you would prefer to have our cooperation."

"Yes, ma'am."

Lucinda twiddled her fingers and nodded thoughtfully, "You will stay the night with us," it wasn't said in a manner which invited anything but an affirmative response.

"We would be honored, my lady," Iruu said.

"Good," she moved to rise. The members of Zeta stood with her and she smiled politely, "The evening meal will not be ready for another few hours, but I would like you to join me," she looked up at Iruu with a pained expression on her face, "Please don't be offended, my husband will not attend: he does not take meals in company."

'Loram nodded in understanding. Whatever means the man had to use to eat would be humiliating and not something he likely shared with anyone, his wife included. It mattered little; it was clear the one they had to convince was her.

"Yipip," Lucinda suddenly chirped and brows raised at the excited sound of a startled Unggoy as the creature hurriedly waddled into the room, "They will stay in the east wing," she looked back to the group, "If you need anything, he will see that you get it. Naaco and Amy are our resident geographical experts, they would be happy to catch you up on _our_ history."

Everyone nodded politely before Deléon stepped from the room and Yipip waved his stubby arm entreating them to follow.

* * *

**Post-Note: **This chapter and I did NOT get along, if it sucked, I'm sorry.


End file.
